‘How foolish of you,’ Ajax replied coldly. ‘I wonder if you would have spared me had I begged for mercy on the sands of the arena. Chilo, get on with it.’
Chilo and two of his men grabbed the nearest auxiliary and dragged him roughly towards the edge of the cliff that dropped into the ravine.The Roman shouted and screamed for mercy, writhing in their grasp. They struggled towards the edge, and stopped a safe distance back, before holding the captive’s wrists firmly. Chilo stood behind him, then, bracing his boot in the small of the auxiliary’s back, thrust him forwards as his men released their grip. With a terrified scream the Batavian lurched over the edge of the cliff, arms flailing. Then he was falling in a lazy tumble as he clawed at the air. His screams were cut off a moment later as his head struck an outcrop of rock and exploded like a watermelon. His body bounced off the cliff and fell with a heavy crunch on to the boulders at its foot. One by one his comrades suffered the same fate, as the slaves cheered each man, and jeered those who struggled most as they were led to the edge.
At last only Micon remained. He had slumped to his knees and was trembling pitifully as his captors came for him. Chilo had him dragged towards the cliff, but just before they reached the edge Ajax called out:
‘Stop!’
Chilo and his men turned towards their leader with questioning expressions.
‘Not him.’ Ajax waved them back from the edge. ‘That one lives. Bring him here.’
The shaking Roman was thrown to the ground before the gladiator and Ajax bit back on his disgust as he stared down at the man, pathetically mumbling his thanks.
‘Silence, you dog!’ He kicked the Roman. ‘Hear me out. I want you to go back to Gortyna, and tell your superiors tell every- one you meet all that you have seen here.You tell them that the slaves will be free, and that we will destroy, with sword and fire, any who come between us and freedom…Now stand up, you cowardly vermin. On your feet! Before I change my mind.’
Micon scrambled up and stood trembling before Ajax. ‘Do you understand what you have to do, Roman?’
‘Y-yes. Ajax turned to Chilo. ‘Find him a horse, then escort him away from here, a safe distance so our people won’t be tempted to chase him down and cut his throat.Then set him free. Is that understood?’
Chilo bowed his head. ‘Yes, General. As you command.’
That night fires flared into the starry sky to warm the slaves as they celebrated their victory. At the heart of the patchwork of mean shelters and tents that formed their camp was a large open space in front of the tent of Ajax and his closest companions. Scores of fire pits had been dug, and as darkness fell, mutton carcasses on spits roasted over heaps of glowing embers, filling the air with the rich aroma of cooking meat. For slaves, used to an unvaried diet of gruel and whatever small animals they might snare, this was the height of luxury. T h e kind of feast that their former masters enjoyed, and which they had only ever dreamed of. Wine, bread and fruit taken from the kitchens of the estates that had been sacked by the slaves were freely distributed on the orders of Ajax.
As his followers feasted, Ajax made his way from fire to fire, congratulating those who had fought in the ambush, and listening patiently as they boasted of their part in the battle. It did his heart good to see how the ragged, cowed fugitives who had joined his struggle against Rome were now so full of fight. Where he led in battle, they would follow, unquestioning. He had been used to the adulation of the mob that came to spectate at the games in Rome, but this was altogether different. These slaves, these people, did not follow him because he won them bets, nor because he excited their bloodlust. They followed him because they shared a common burden. And now, he mused, they shared a common destiny.
He had nursed their ambition with small raids on estates and villages, and then attacks on Roman patrols. Only when he had been sure that they were ready did he plan the previous night’s ambush. He had watched the Roman column ever since it had set out from Gortyna. Skirmish by skirmish he had lured the commander towards the hills, and then, when the trap was set, he had sent in the boy. The child had not hesitated for an instant when Ajax had asked Pollio to carry out the task that would almost certainly lead to his death.The boy’s father had been killed by an overseer, and his mother sold to a brothel. All he lived for was revenge. He had gone to his death willingly and Ajax had been glad for him to go, knowing he would have done precisely the same if their positions had been reversed. He had long grown used to the conviction that there was nothing he would not do if it aided his desire to defy and destroy Romeand all it stood for. In time, his followers would come to share his vision as fully as he did, as the boy had, and Rome would tremble as it beheld a tide of those it had treated as little more than things rise up to overwhelm the empire.
Ajax allowed himself a moment to indulge in the dream of Romebeing crushed beneath his heel. Then he reined in his imagination and focused on the immediate future. A small battle had been won. Now was the time to exploit the victory, before the Romans could recover from the shock of the defeat.
As the fires died down, the slaves finished the last scraps of their feast and drank the last of the wine. Some began to sing, fragments of songs remembered from the time before they or their forebears had been slaves. Songs from every corner of the empire, and the melodies and rhythms, often strange to his ear, moved Ajax deeply. Truly there was no corner of the earth that had not felt the scourge ofRome. Once more his heart was filled with cold, cold rage and a thirst for revenge.
Returning to the centre of the camp, he climbed on to a wagon piled high with captured equipment and stood atop the driver’s bench, sword in one hand, the standard of the Batavian cohort in the other. He clattered the blade against the silver disc bearing an image of the emperor. The surrounding crowd turned towards the sound and began to fall silent, watching their leader expectantly. Ajax lowered his sword and stared out over the sea of faces, dimly lit by the wavering glow of the dying fires. Filling his lungs, he began.
‘You have feasted on the best meat, the best wine and the best delicacies that we have taken from those who were our masters. Tell me, what is it that has the best taste tonight?’
‘Roast mutton!’ a voice cried, and scores of others called out their agreement.
‘Garum!’ cried another. ‘Figs!’ ‘My girl’s cunt!’ someone shouted, and there was a roar of laughter. Ajax clattered his sword against the standard again to silence them.
‘You are all wrong! I’ll tell you what tastes best and sweetest to every one of us tonight… Liberty! Liberty!’
The crowd cheered, thrusting their fists into the air as they echoed the cry. ‘Liberty!’
When the cheering had died down, Ajax continued. ‘My friends, we have won the first of many fights. But not without cost. We fought with clubs and farming tools against men in armour with swords and spears. Now their weapons are ours, and when we next fight the Romans it will be on far more even terms. No! The next fight will be on our terms. They have grown fat and complacent on the back of our labour and suffering. They cannot match the determination of those who fight for their freedom. That is why they will lose. That is why we shall triumph!’
More cheering greeted his words. Ajax indulged them a moment before he raised his sword and called for quiet.
‘My friends, we have tasted liberty, and now victory, but our work is only just beginning. I have a plan. We will demand that our freedom be recognised.We will demand that the Romans give us safe passage out of their empire. Now, it is just possible that they may be inclined to refuse such a reasonable request . . .’
The crowd laughed and jeered for a moment before Ajax continued.
‘So, my friends, we must teach them a lesson, to prove how serious our demands are. Tomorrow I will lead an army off this hill and out on to the plain.Within days I will show the Romans that their defeat last night was no accident. I will give them another defeat that will shatter their arrogance and humble them. In a few days t
hey will learn just how terrible our revenge can be . . . Then they will be forced to meet our demands. If they don’t, then I give you my word that we shall slaughter every last Roman on the island.’ He thrust his sword into the heavens. ‘Death to Rome! Death to Rome!’
The crowd took up the chant, and it thundered out into the night, strident and challenging, daring Rome to defy them.
Ajax climbed down from the wagon and strolled over to Chilo. ‘Time to complete the night’s entertainment, I think. Have the men bring out my little pet.’
‘My pleasure.’ Chilo grinned. He turned away, gesturing to a handful of his men, who followed him inside Ajax’s tent. They emerged a moment later carrying an iron cage. As the crowd saw the cage they edged forward, forming a loose circle around it. As Chilo and his men set it down in the glow of the cooking fires, Ajax stepped up to the cage and looked through the bars. Inside he could make out a human form, visible in the slats of orange light passing through the bars.The figure was naked and bruised and sat with her arms hugged round her knees as strands of matted hair hung down over her fleshy body.
‘My lady Antonia, thank you for joining us,’ Ajax mocked. ‘I am sorry that you have missed the feast, but you have not missed all the entertainment. I have saved the best until last, in your honour. I know your pleasures well enough. All those months I had to service you like some rutting bull.You have no idea how much the thought of you and your soft, weak, fat body has revolted me.You have wasted my seed, and soiled me. Now it is your turn to be soiled.’ He clicked his fingers at Chilo. ‘Get her out!’
Chilo cut the ties that fastened the door to the cage and reached in to drag the former governor’s wife out. She put up a pathetic struggle and then collapsed on the ground at the feet of Ajax as some of the crowd wolf-whistled.
‘I’ll be kind.’ Ajax smiled coldly. ‘I’ll let you choose. On your back, or on all fours.’
She stared up at him with terrified eyes, her lips quivering. ‘I beg you, spare me. Please.’
‘No.’
‘Then why did you save me? When the earthquake struck, you came for me in the garden. Why?’
‘For this moment, my lady.Yes, in a way I saved you. I saved you so I could have my revenge for the indignity of being your toy. I saved you for these men.’ Ajax indicated Chilo and his companions, who were grinning cruelly. ‘Take her, use her in any way you want, and when you’re done, throw her body down into the ravine with the others.’
Ajax turned away and strode back towards his tent. Behind him the crowd looked on as Chilo had two ofhis men hold the Roman woman face down on the bare ground. A moment later the first of her shrill screams of terror and agony filled the night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Macro arrived at Sempronius’s office carrying with him the faint odour of the work he had been supervising in the city’s sewer. He nodded a greeting to Cato and saluted the senator, before casting a curious eye over Centurion Micon. ‘Now that we’re all here, take a seat.’ Sempronius folded his hands together. ‘Then Centurion Micon can make his report. I take it you know nothing of what has happened yet, Macro?’
Macro glanced at Cato and shook his head. ‘I’m not aware of anything. Apart from some shouting from the forum as I headed up here.’
‘Shouting?’ ‘Yes. Didn’t sound like they were celebrating.’ ‘Our friend Centurion Micon was unwise enough to break his news in the forum before he came to find me. It’ll be all over Gortyna before nightfall.’
‘News?’ Macro frowned. ‘What in Hades is going on, sir?’
‘There’s been a defeat. Marcellus and his column have been wiped out by the rebel slaves. Centurion Micon managed to escape. But you’d better hear it from Micon.’
‘I should think so.’ Macro eyed Micon coldly. ‘The story of how a band ofslaves carved up the best part ofa thousand men has got to be worth hearing.’
Sempronius leaned forward. ‘Just listen.’
Macro raised his hands and leaned back as he nodded at Micon. ‘Please tell us.’
Centurion Micon was unsettled by the critical tone of his superior and took a brief moment to compose himself before he cleared his throat and began.
‘It happened yesterday, at dusk, thirty miles to the east of Gortyna. As you know from Prefect Marcellus’s reports, we were tracking down bands of slaves and driving them before us. All the time they were pulling back, away from Gortyna and into the hills. We were sure we had them on the run. We’d cleared them out of the plain, and once they were forced up towards the mountains, the plan was to trap them and finish them off once and for all. Marcellus was confident that the campaign would be over in less than a month. Then, three days ago, one ofour patrols captured a slave.A young lad, no more than twelve or thirteen. He was brought in and questioned, and told us that the leader ofthe slaves was a great gladiator who had pledged to lead the slaves to freedom or die. Our men scoffed at this, but then the boy claimed to know the gladiator, said that he was one of the gladiator’s servants. That was when he realised he’d said too much and clammed up. But it was too late. The decurion in command of the patrol took the boy to Marcellus. At first he refused to talk, then the prefect called in the interrogators.’ Micon paused and looked round at the other officers. ‘You know how good they are at loosening tongues. Well, it took them the best part of an hour before they broke the boy. They’d beaten him badly and used heated irons, then they brought out the gouges. First sight of those did the trick. Even so, never seen guts like that in a youngster,’ Centurion Micon mused. ‘Or a slave.’
‘Please continue,’ Sempronius cut in.
‘Yes, sir. Anyway, the lad told us that he knew where the rebels were camped, and he would take us there ifMarcellus promised that he would be sent back to his master without any further harm. Naturally, the prefect gave his word. Marcellus sent for his officers. He gave us wine and said he’d lead us back in triumph, herding thousands of captive slaves, while their leader was dragged behind in chains.
‘The next morning he gave orders for all patrols to be called in and the men prepared for an attack on the slave camp the following night. Centurion Albinus suggested that a report be sent back to Gortyna, advising them of the attack, but Marcellus said that it would be better ifwe simply returned with our captives once the attack was over. Nothing is as eloquent as success – those were his words. So we set off into the hills, guided by the boy, who was tethered to Marcellus’s horse. At first the going was easy, along a broad path, and even as dusk settled and it became dark there was enough moonlight to see our way as the track narrowed and became steeper.Then, after perhaps two or three hours, we saw a faint glow above a hill a mile off. That was the camp, the boy assured us. We continued forward more carefully and Marcellus sent scouts on ahead. All was well for a while, until we were within half a mile of the camp. Then one of the scouts came back and reported that the track passed through a narrow ravine before rising steeply up towards the top of the hill. Marcellus was suspicious and ordered the column to halt while he questioned the boy again. The lad was adamant that it was the only way up to the camp without taking a wide detour that would mean we wouldn’t reach it before daybreak. Marcellus ordered us forward again.
‘The ravine was barely twenty feet across, with steep sides, too steep to climb, and we did our best to advance quietly as the sounds echoed off the rock faces on either side. Just as the head of the column began to emerge into the open, there was a sudden flaring up of light along the crests on either side. They had faggots drenched in oil, which they lit up and threw down on to us.’ Micon paused again as he recalled the horror of the previous night. ‘There was fire everywhere, and the faggots exploded into blazing fragments all around us. The horses panicked and ran into each other and trampled the infantry. By the light ofthe flames the enemy – the slaves, I mean – started to roll boulders down on to us. Boulders, and also logs into which they had driven iron spikes and hooks. It was carnage, sir. Marcellus was one
of the first to be struck down, but not before he’d drawn his sword and cut the boy’s throat.That was the really terrible thing. The lad just stood there and laughed as it happened. He spat into Marcellus’s face before he died. An instant later, the prefect was crushed by one of the logs. Killed outright. There was no one in command, and some men charged forward to get out of the trap. Others turned back, and some just huddled under whatever shelter they could find.’
‘And what did you do?’ asked Macro.
‘I turned back,’ Centurion Micon confessed. ‘What else could I do? I called what was left of my men to me and we rode back through the column the way we had come. Only the slaves had closed that off, throwing abatis across the track. Some of our men tried to clear them away, but they had slingers on either flank and our men went down like flies. But they opened a gap, and I charged my men through it.’ Micon glanced at the other officers furtively. ‘We went after the slingers, to give the others a chance to clear the rest of the barricade away and make good their escape. But that’s when the spearmen came up out of the ground. They’d been lying down behind the slingers, and as soon as we charged up, the slingers melted away and we rode straight on to their pikes. I turned away, after the last of my men was cut down, and rode back down the track towards the plain, breaking through a handful of slaves covering the track. I didn’t stop until I had put the best part of a mile between us. Then when I did rein in, I looked back and saw the flames glowing in the ravine. I can still hear the cries and screams of our men echoing off the rocks. The slave spearmen formed up at the edge of the ravine, and slaughtered every one of our men caught in their trap.’ Centurion Micon lowered his head. ‘The column didn’t stand a chance, sir. I didn’t know what to do . . . Charge back into the fight, or do my duty and report back to you.’
‘So you decided to save your skin,’ Macro snorted. ‘Instead of going to the aid of your comrades. Typical bloody auxiliary.’
The Gladiator Page 18
