The Gladiator c-9

by Simon Scarrow

  'You're making me hungry.'

  Julia stared at him intensely for an instant and then burst into laughter. Macro joined in, roaring with mirth and desperate relief that some spark of the old Julia still lived on. A handful of the nearest rebels turned to look curiously at the filthy figures in the cage, and then one of the gladiator's bodyguards came over and poked the butt of his spear through the bars and into Macro's back.

  'Quiet, you!'

  'Fuck off,' Macro growled back, and the man rammed the butt home again, much harder this time, sending a searing pain round Macro's ribs. He snatched a breath of air and gritted his teeth as he rode out the pain. The guard grunted, spat through the bars and then slowly strode back to the shade of a stunted olive tree.

  'Macro, are you all right?' Julia was looking at him anxiously.

  'I'll live,' he winced. 'But that bastard won't, the moment I get out of here.'

  'Brave words.'

  'I mean it. I'm going to take that spear and ram it so far up his arsehole I'll knock his fucking teeth out… Sorry, pardon my Gallic, miss.'

  Julia shook her head. 'Don't worry. I think we've gone some way towards outgrowing social niceties in recent days.'

  'Somewhat easier for me than you, I imagine.'

  'Yes…' Julia shifted and then let out a low groan, trying to find a more comfortable position as she leaned her back against the bars.

  Macro turned his head and examined the scene down in the bay again. The cargo ships were large, bulky affairs that would be completely at the mercy of any Roman warships that they might encounter. However, the rebels would have plenty of warning that the warships were coming. The peninsula stretched out for the best part of two miles before it reached the narrow straits leading out to the sea. Ajax's men would see immediately if the Roman warships approached the entrance to the bay. There would be enough time to burn or sink all the grain ships.

  He was suddenly aware of a light snuffling sound and turned back to see that Julia was trying to hide her tears again.

  He opened his mouth to offer some comfort, but found there was nothing he could say. There was no comfort to offer. None at all, he realised.

  'Macro?'

  'Yes, miss?'

  'Sometimes I wish you had killed me, back when you had the chance.'

  Macro felt a surge of guilt at her words. There were moments when he too wished he had not hesitated, that he had killed Julia with a quick sword thrust and then had time to turn his blade on himself.

  But he despised himself for even considering such an end when there was always a chance, however slim, to escape or get revenge. He cleared his throat. 'I would have done it, but I was knocked down before I could strike. Perhaps the gods spared us for a reason.'

  'Really? And what reason would that be? To see how long we could endure this?' Julia let out a dry laugh, then coughed for a moment before she fell silent. At length she spoke again, in an anxious tone.

  'Do you think Cato will still want me if we get through this?'

  'Of course! Why would you ever doubt it?'

  She bit her lip and glanced down at her body.' Look at me. I'm disgusting. I am dirt. This… filth is so ground into me that I shall stink of it for ever.'

  'It's nothing that a good scrub won't deal with,' Macro replied lightly. 'You'll see. When it's all over you can have a bath, a scrapedown and a hot meal and the world will be a completely different place. And there'll be Cato. You'll be a sight for his sore eyes, I can tell you.'

  'There are some things, some kinds of dirt, that no amount of scrubbing can erase, Macro.' She looked quickly at him. 'I'm no fool, you know.'

  'I never thought you were.'

  'Then don't humour me. If — when — the time comes that Ajax tires of keeping us in here, he's going to torture us, isn't he?'

  Macro's silence was eloquent enough for Julia, and she continued.

  'I overheard some of his guards one night, soon after we were taken.

  They were talking about a woman who had been kept in this cage before us. The wife of Hirtius. When Ajax tired of keeping her, he turned her over to his men.' Julia shuddered.' They used her all night, in whatever ways they could imagine. She was begging them to kill her before the end, but they ignored her and continued, until finally they left her to bleed to death. Macro, I can't face that. Even if I lived through it, I could never be with another man again. No one would have me. Not Cato anyway. I would be dishonoured and he would look at me with disgust in his eyes and turn away' She gulped back her emotions and spoke so softly that Macro could barely hear her.

  'I might survive the rest of it, but not that. Not losing Cato.'

  'You underestimate him, miss. Cato is not some chinless wonder.

  He has a deeper sense of honour, and compassion. I tried to beat that out of him in the early days, but he was a stubborn bastard. Still is.

  He loves you, and that's all that will matter to him when he finds you again.'

  'You really think so?' She looked at him with hope in her eyes.

  'I know it. Now, that's enough crying.' Macro nodded his head towards the nearest rebels, clustered about a camp fire as they watched a suckling pig turn slowly over a pile of embers. 'We have to appear strong and fearless in front of those bastards. You can do it, miss. Just remember, you're a Roman aristocrat. You have a tradition to uphold.'

  'But I'm afraid.'

  'And so am I,' Macro admitted. 'But you can choose not to let them use it against you. That is the only way we can defy Ajax at the moment. So, chin up and keep a brave face on for those bastards over there.'

  'I'll try.'

  Macro sensed a shadow at his shoulder and then a voice spoke close to his ear. 'Fine words, Centurion. We'll see how brave you can be when the time comes to do to you what you did to my father.'

  Ajax moved round to the end of the cage and squatted down where they could both see him. He had a chicken leg in one hand and raised it to his mouth to take a bite. Then his nose wrinkled and he tossed the leg to one side. Almost at once, a pair of seagulls whirled down and began to fight over the meat, pecking away at each other savagely.

  'You stink, the pair of you. More than enough to put me off my food.' He stared at his captives for a moment and sneered.' Who would believe that two such disgusting examples of humanity could belong to the great Roman empire? You are like swine, rolling in your own filth. I wonder what your emperor would say if he could see you now? And you, woman, what would your father, the governor, think if he beheld you now as I do? I would not blame him if he disowned you. After all, you are not fit for decent company. And that's before I let my men loose on you.'

  Macro saw Julia recoil at the thought, pressing herself into the far corner of the cage. Ajax laughed at her reaction and Macro felt a surge of rage sweep through his veins.

  'You leave the girl alone, you bastard! If you want your fun, then take it out on me. She's just a girl. But me? I'm a centurion, a man of the legions. I'm your challenge, Ajax. Try and break me, if you dare.'

  Ajax had an amused expression on his face during Macro's outburst, and he shook his head mockingly. 'It's as I thought. The best fun to be had is in letting you watch the governor's daughter die first, in front of your eyes. Something for you to dwell on before we come for you, Centurion. Then, while you are left to rot on the cross, you'll have plenty of time to remember what happened to her. And you'll know it's all your fault. If you had not killed my father and sold me into slavery, none of us would be here now '

  'If your father had not been a murdering pirate bastard then I would not have had to crucify him in the first place.' Macro smiled.

  'Credit where credit is due, eh, sunshine?'

  For a moment Ajax's features froze into a mask of bitter hatred, then he breathed in and took control of his feelings with a slow smile. 'I think I might just nail you to the crosspiece in person, Macro. Yes, I think I should like that a great deal.'

  'Is that what you are keeping us for? I thought it w
as because we might be useful hostages.'

  'Oh yes, that was the reason once. But then the girl's father decided that stubborn defiance was a greater virtue than paternal affection. And now I have hostages infinitely more valuable than you two.' Ajax edged to one side and gestured towards the captured ships.

  'At one stroke I have the power to feed Rome, or let her starve. Once the emperor knows that I have his grain fleet, he will have to discuss terms with me.'

  Now it was Macro's turn to sneer. 'And what makes you think he should bother with you? Those are Roman warships outside the bay. You cannot escape with those cargo ships, and you cannot defend them adequately if they remain in the bay. The navy will pick its own time, then sail in bold as brass and take those ships from you.'

  'Really? You must think I was born yesterday,' Ajax mocked him.

  'Those warships will not dare to enter the bay, because the moment they do, I shall give the order to burn the grain fleet. So, my dear friends, you can see the situation for yourselves. I have got your emperor by the balls. Sadly, that makes you two little more than a detail, an entertainment, and the time is fast approaching when I will have no further need of you.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Cato gave orders for the camp to be constructed on the high ground overlooking Olous as the column completed the fourth day's march. The auxiliaries advanced a short way down the slope to form a protective screen while the legionaries set down their marching yokes, took up their pickaxes and shovels and began to dig into the stony ground. It was hot and the work was back-breaking after a hard day's march, but it was part of the daily routine while on campaign, and aside from the usual grumbling the men carried out their work efficiently. By the time the sun had set behind the hills to the west, a ditch surrounded the camp, within which a rampart and palisade provided adequate defence against any attempt at a surprise attack.

  Once the camp was ready, the auxiliaries were called in and the column settled down for the night. There was no moon in the sky, and though the stars shone brilliantly, the landscape was wreathed in darkness. Mindful of the enemy's willingness to take the initiative, Cato doubled the watch and had a full cohort stand to along the palisade and keep watch over the approaches to the camp. Accompanied by Fulvius, he made an inspection of the defences before the two of them returned to the headquarters tents in the heart of the camp, occupying a small mound overlooking the ramparts and on towards the enemy. The fires of the rebels glittered in a huge arc around the dark waters of the bay, dwarfing the neat lines of the Roman camp. Out at sea, three lamps glimmered where the warships lay hove to, keeping watch on the entrance to the bay. The rest of the fleet was beached in a cove some miles to the north, and Cato had sent for the navarch in command of the ships to come and report to him the next day.

  'The buggers aren't short of men,' Fulvius muttered as he surveyed the enemy.

  Cato shrugged.' Numbers aren't everything. We have better men and the better position. If they attack, they'll have to do it uphill, and they'll have to get over the ditch and the palisade. Our men can deal with any of them that get close enough to come to blows.'

  'I hope you're right, sir,' Fulvius muttered. 'So what happens now?

  Looks like something of a stand-off. We can beat off their attacks, but we might not have sufficient men to take their camp.'

  'The situation is to our advantage. We're camped across the only road out of Olous to the rest of the island. The navy blocks access to the sea, so we have them trapped. The main problem for us will be keeping supplied with food and water. We have enough for five more days before I have to send a detachment back to Gortyna with the wagons for more rations. Of course, that's not a problem for the rebels now that they have their hands on the grain fleet. They could live off that for months. With the streams that run off the hills, they won't be short of water either. However, the reality is that it is their turn to be under siege.'

  Fulvius seemed doubtful, and gestured to the hills surrounding the bay. 'If they wanted to get away, they could slip over these hills easily enough.'

  'If they wanted to get away. But they don't. They have their carts and wagons with them, weighed down by loot, and then there's the grain fleet. That is their one chance to cut a deal with Rome. And that's why Ajax won't abandon those ships.' Cato paused and looked over to where a line of torches marked the palisade that had been erected to protect the beached ships.' The trick of it will be in finding a way of separating the rebels from the ships. We have to act soon. The grain fleet has already been delayed. Before long the stocks in the imperial warehouses are going to be exhausted, and Rome will starve. If we can't rescue those ships in time…'

  Cato turned away and strode towards his tent. Fulvius scratched his cheek for a moment and then followed his superior. Inside the tent, Cato had unfastened the clasp of his cloak and flung it over towards his bedroll. There were few of the usual refinements of a senior officer in the tent, since there had been no time to arrange for any at Gortyna. Comfort had been the last thing on his mind when Cato set off in pursuit of the rebels, and so there was only a small campaign table and a handful of chests containing the column's pay records, strength returns and spare waxed slates. He yawned as he unfastened the buckles of his harness and drew it, and then the chainmail vest, over his head. He let them drop heavily by the bedroll. The march in the hot sun, and his exhaustion, had left him with a headache, and he declined the wine that Fulvius offered him from a jug that had been left out by one of the headquarters servants.

  Fulvius shrugged, and filled a goblet almost to the brim before he eased himself down on to a chest with a sigh. 'So then, what do we do now?'

  'Nothing we can do tonight. Tomorrow we'll scout the enemy camp and see if there are any weak points that we might attack.'

  'You are thinking of an attack then?' Fulvius probed.

  'I don't see what else I can do. Some of the grain ships will no doubt be lost during the fight, but we have to rescue what we can and hope that it is enough to keep Rome going until another fleet can be gathered to fetch more grain from Egypt. It'll be a bloody business if we have to attack, and if anything goes wrong, if the men break, then we'll be cut to pieces.'

  'The lads of the Twenty-Second won't let you down, sir. They'll fight well, and if the attack fails then they'll keep formation when we fall back.'

  'I hope you are right,' Cato replied wearily.' Now then, that's all for tonight. I'm turning in.'

  Fulvius drained his cup and stood up. 'I'll have one last turn round the camp, sir. So I can sleep easy'

  'Very well.' Cato nodded. Once the centurion had left the tent, he took off his boots, extinguished the oil lamp and lay down on the bedroll. Even though it was a hot night, there was a gentle breeze blowing, enough to cool Cato's brow and make it worth keeping his tunic on. His head felt thick with exhaustion, and it was a struggle to think clearly as he lay and stared up at the goatskin tent overhead.

  The moment he tried to settle into a comfortable position to sleep, his mind filled with images of Julia and Macro. If they were still alive, they were not more than a mile or two from where he lay. It had taken every fibre of his self-control to hide his feelings from Fulvius and the other men under his command. Inside, his heart felt like a lump of lead, weighing his body down. The worst moments came when his imagination thrust images of their torment to the front of his mind, making him feel sick with helplessness and despair until he forced such thoughts aside and concentrated his mind elsewhere.

  He lay on his mattress, turning frequently, and ended up curled in a ball on his side before his weary body and exhausted mind finally succumbed to sleep.

  Cato was woken by the blare of a buccina sounding the change of watch. He blinked his eyes open and winced at the stiffness in his back. Sunlight slanted through the open flaps of the tent and he instantly scrambled to his feet, furious that he had not been roused.

  He pulled on his boots and laced them up before hurrying out of the tent. Bef
ore him lay the camp, the men calmly going about their morning duties as they cleaned their mess tins and packed them away in their kit sacks before making ready their armour and weapons for morning inspection. Centurion Fulvius was sitting at a table in front of one of the other tents, writing notes on a wax tablet. He stood up and saluted as Cato came striding across to him with an icy expression.

  'Why was I not woken at the end of the night watch?'

  'There was no need, sir.' Fulvius affected a surprised look.' The watch officers had nothing to report and there's been no sign of any movement down at the rebel camp. I was just about to complete the orders for the morning cavalry patrols before I came to wake you.'

  Cato lowered his voice so that only Fulvius would hear. 'You know damn well that the senior officer should be woken at first light.'

  'I had no orders to that effect, sir.'

  'Damn orders, it's customary. Even when a unit is on garrison duties. On campaign there's never any question about it.', Fulvius did not respond, thereby intimating his guilt. Cato glared at him for a moment, and then snorted with derision. 'Tell me, when was the last time you served on a campaign?'

  'It's been a while, sir,' Fulvius admitted. 'In my previous legion, on the Danube.'

  'How long ago?'

  The centurion's gaze wavered. 'Twelve years, sir.'

  'And since then you have served in Egypt: garrison duty. Little to keep you occupied but spit and polish and the odd field exercise, eh?'

  'Keeps the lads on their toes, sir.'

  'I don't doubt it.' Cato recalled the endless drills and route marches of his earliest months in the Second Legion. It was not the readiness of the men he questioned. 'So, having ducked out of the fighting for the last twelve years, you think you are better qualified to lead these men than I am. Is that it?'

  'Something like that.' Fulvius was still for a moment and pursed his lips. 'Permission to speak freely, sir?'

  'No. Centurion, I am the commander of this column and that fact ends any discussion on this matter. If you question my authority, or undermine established procedures again, I will have you removed from your position and sent back to Gortyna. Is that understood?'