The Gladiator

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Julia,’ Macro continued with icy intensity,’If you get the chance, kill him!’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Then the guard pulled her to her feet and half dragged and half carried her across the ground towards Ajax’s tent.

  Macro leaned back against the bars, praying for the gods to release him from this torment, one way or another.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Cato and his men did not reach the small cove at the head of the bay until the second hour of the night. There was no moon, and even though a local shepherd had led the way, it was hard to follow the narrow track that wound along the side of the hills and then down a steep cliff to the shore. Like the others, Cato carried a haversack with a dagger and a sword bundled together and firmly tied to an empty waterskin. Although every man who served in the legions was trained to swim after a fashion, most never became proficient. Cato’s officers had selected just over five hundred men capable of swimming the length of the bay, nearly two miles. The three men chosen by Fulvius marched directly behind Cato as he followed the shepherd. They had readily volunteered when asked, and Cato felt confident that they would serve him well. One of Fulvius’s choices was an auxiliary optio from Gortyna who knew the area and had asked to join the column when it marched from the city.

  When the man had been brought before him, Cato had looked up from his desk with raised eyebrows.

  Atticus.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ Atticus nodded. ‘I have to say, this is something of a surprise. I wouldn’t have expected you to be at the head of the queue to save Macro.’ ‘Nothing would give me greater satisfaction than seeing his face when I rescue him, sir.’ Cato stared at the man for a moment before he responded. ‘That’s an unusual form of revenge to choose.’ ‘You know the man well enough, sir. It’ll drive him mad.’ Cato laughed. ‘You have the measure of him, Atticus. Very well then. I’ll see you later tonight. Dismissed.’ The other two men selected to join Cato were legionaries,Vulso and Musa, solid men with good records who were also chasing promotion. Musa had been issued with a buccina, which he carried in the same bundle as his sword belt.

  The long, straggling line oflegionaries picked their way down the cliff, and emerged on to the coarse sand of the beach. Cato paid off the shepherd, and as soon as he had the purse, with its fifty silver denarians a small fortune for a night’s work he scuttled along the beach and disappeared up another track. As the men reached the beach, one of Cato’s officers counted off each section and sent them to prepare for the attack. The force would swim in two columns, one closer to the shore as they made for the beached ships. Cato had been anxious to ensure that each force would remain close together, and the section leaders were tasked with keeping a regular count of their men. The soldiers heading for the beached ships would enter the water at close intervals to make sure that there was a small gap between each section. The first section would make for the furthest ship, and once the intervals were taken into account, it was Cato’s hope that the teams would begin boarding the grain ships at roughly the same moment. With luck they would all be taken before the rebels on the shore had realised the danger and could react.

  Cato would lead the other column directly towards the cluster of grain ships anchored in the middle of the bay. There was no need for his detachment to be staggered. They would have to keep together, so as not to tackle the ships in a piecemeal fashion.

  Once the last of the men had descended from the cliff and had removed their boots and tunics, Cato quietly gave the word to enter the water. Each man inflated his waterskin and then, holding it in his arms, together with the bundle containing his weapons, waded into the sea with the rest of his section as the order was given. Wearing only a loincloth, Cato shivered in the cool night air. He had decided to swim close to the front of the column and allowed two sections to go ahead before he stepped forward with his three men. He had not mentioned to the other officers that he was a poor swimmer. He was ashamed of the fact, and though he had made some improvement since basic training, he was still far short of the standard of capable veterans like Macro.

  There was a faint swell, and the waves crunched and hissed on the sand. Cato firmed up his resolve and strode down towards the surf. The water was cold and he gave a gasp as he waded out into the sea. A wave slapped up against his chest and he took the opportunity to launch himself forwards, submerging momentarily before shaking his head and kicking out into the bay as he held on to the waterskin bobbing on the surface in front of him.

  ‘Atticus,’ Cato called out as loudly as he dared. ‘On me.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Atticus replied with a splutter, a short distance from Cato’s shoulder. ‘Come on, you two!’

  Cato kicked out with his legs, hurriedly at first; then, as he got used to the water temperature, he realised that he must pace himself if he was not to reach the ships in too tired a condition to fight. It was hard going, and after a while he turned his head and was surprised to see that the cliff still seemed close by. Ahead, as he rose up on the swell, he could see the rebel camp fires glittering over two miles away. There was a faint glow on the hills to the right that marked the Roman camp. By now only the auxiliary infantry and half of the cavalry should still be there. The rest of the column was with Fulvius, making its way behind the hills before cutting across and forming up on the beach, a mile from the end of the rebels’ palisade and the grain ships within. Out to sea, Balbus and his ships would be creeping cautiously round the headland, and would then heave to and wait for the series of three signal beacons to be lit on one of the hills above the bay. Cato took a deep breath and kicked out again, dimly aware of the hundreds of men in the sea all around him, struggling through the swell towards the grain ships and the desperate fight that awaited them.

  Julia sat in numbed silence as the old crone dried her hair with a length of wool cloth, rubbing vigorously at the thick dark tresses that dropped down past her naked shoulders. She had long since given up resisting the wizened woman and the burly guard who seemed to be her inseparable companion. After being removed from the cage she had struggled, but the guard had slapped her and then punched her in the kidneys and told her to stop resisting or he would do it again. There was no chance of escape, and rather than suffer more pain Julia had given in to the pair of them, allowing her rags to be taken from her. She was sat down on a stool by a horse trough while the woman doused her with several buckets of water, before setting to work with a brush. The grime had worked its way into her flesh so far that it took repeated and painful efforts to shift it.

  Julia’s cries and muttered protests had no effect and she sat with gritted teeth. It was strange how the filth that had been caked to her body had seemed to hide her nakedness; now, and as it was cleaned away, she began to feel self-conscious under the constant gaze of the guard standing close by. Once the woman had completed cleaning her body and the skin was white and flushed red in places from hard scrubbing, she turned to her long dark hair, thrusting her head over the side of the trough as she ladled water over the back of her scalp and then worked her fingers in vigorously, pulling mercilessly at the tangles until they came free.

  As the woman dried her hair, Julia forced herself to think through what Macro had said as she was pulled from the cage. There was a chance of finding something she could use as a weapon in Ajax’s tent. Something she could surreptitiously get hold of. If there was a way to do it, she would attempt to kill him, and the thought of it filled her with a brief thrill of triumph. She felt her heart beat against her breast with excitement at the prospect. Then the woman threw the cloth aside and stuck a comb intoJulia’s hair.There was a sharp pain that made her cry out as the woman wrenched it through the remaining tangles. She turned instinctively and slapped the crone. ‘Take care, slave!’

  Julia regretted the outburst as soon as she had uttered the words. Rage glittered in the old woman’s eyes and her hands clenched into claws as she bared her teeth.

  ‘Fucking bitch! Call me a slave!�
� She lashed out, knockingJulia off the stool. At once she threw herself on the naked Roman, hammer- ing blows at her face as Julia drew her arms up protectively. Fists rained down, battering her shoulders and arms as the old woman attacked her in a savage frenzy.

  ‘Mother! That’s enough,’ the guard shouted, striding two paces towards them. He grabbed the old woman’s wrists and lifted her bodily away.’ I said, that’s enough!’

  The old woman’s lips were flecked with spittle as she snarled, ‘Let me go! I’ll kill her!’

  ‘ N o you won’t! N o t unless you want to answer to the general.’

  The woman was staring at Julia, and lashed out with her foot, kicking Julia in the stomach. The guard dragged her away and shook her. ‘I said that’s enough, Mother.’

  Julia rolled on to her side with a groan, and felt the long, thin handle of the comb press into her side. She reached for it with one hand and held it against the inside of her forearm.

  ‘You heard her!’ the old woman wailed. ‘Just like that bitch back in Gortyna. You’ve seen the scars on me back. You’ve seen ‘em.’ She began to sob and became limp so the guard had to hold her up, cradling her gently in his arms.

  ‘It’s all right, Mother. That’s over. Shhh.’ He brushed her wiry grey hair with his hand.

  ‘What’s all that noise?’ Julia looked up to see Ajax striding out of his tent towards them.

  His expression was dark and he glared at the three figures round the trough. ‘What is going on? Get up!’ he snarled at Julia before turning his attention to the old woman and the guard, who regarded him with a mixture of fear and awe. ‘Well?’

  ‘It was the lady, General,’ the guard explained. ‘She provoked my mother into attacking her. I had to separate them.’

  Ajax stared at them briefly before looking at Julia, rising to her feet. Her skin was clean and his eyes feasted on her body. ‘That is the nature of Romans, they bring out the worst in others. Don’t worry.’ Ajax turned back to the old woman. ‘If she has caused offence then she will be paying for it tonight. When I have finished, you can do as you will with her. Only leave her alive, understand?’

  The old woman nodded gleefully.

  Ajax clicked his fingers. ‘Then finish cleaning her up, and find her something to wear. Something fine and Roman. I want to enjoy soiling her.’ He approached Julia, stood before her and raised his hand to tilt her chin. His arm brushed her breast and Ajax felt a flush of lust in his loins as he raised her face towards him.Julia met his gaze with a defiant expression.

  Ajax laughed cruelly. ‘Oh, you won’t be so haughty before this night is out. I promise you. You’ll beg for my mercy’

  ‘I’d rather die.’

  ‘I’m sure you would, but you don’t escape your punishment that easily’

  ‘Punishment?’ Julia frowned. ‘What have I ever done to deserve this?’

  Ajax took his hand away and retreated a step. ‘You were born a Roman.’ He turned to the others. ‘Prepare her for me as swiftly as possible. When she is dressed and scented, bring her straight to me.’

  ‘Yes, General.’ The guard bowed his head.

  As Ajax strode back towards his tent, the old woman chuckled as she advanced on Julia with a chilling grin. ‘Them stripes on my back will be nothing to the scars he’s going to leave on you.’

  After two hours in the water, Cato was beginning to shiver. As far as he could estimate, he had covered a mile and a half along the bay. He was doubting the wisdom of his plan. Around him he could just see the darker shapes ofheads and the inflated waterskins bobbing on the surface. Every so often one of the section leaders would call out to his men and make sure that they were still with him. Optio Atticus and the others swam close by their commander.There was no telling how the group heading for the beached ships was progressing, and Cato could only hope that they reached their targets at roughly the same time that he and his men began to board the anchored ships. That moment was less than an hour away. Cato kicked out and continued forward, trying to ignore the numbing chill that was creeping into his body.

  Ahead, the fires of the rebel camp gradually became more distinct, and he could see individual figures by the light of the flames. A dark mass directly ahead blotted out the fires beyond, and Cato realised that he was nearing the grain ships. He stopped and raised an arm. ‘On me! On me!’

  The water churned around him as the words were passed on and the men began to gather on the steady swell. Once the sounds of splashing had ceased and Cato was happy that as many men as possible were with him, he called out again, as loudly as he dared: ‘Let’s go!

  The men kicked out, spreading out a little as they approached the ships. They silently swam towards their targets with grim determination. Cato made directly for the centre of the rafted ships, and gradually they blotted out all sight of the camp beyond. He could hear the lap of the waves against their hulls, and even an occasional voice above the slap and hiss of the sea. He slowed his pace, kicking steadily but carefully so that he did not break the surface of the water. Ahead of him he saw a dark line against the background and realised he had come across an anchor cable. He made for it and grasped the coarse rope, finding it reassuringly steady. Slipping the shoulder strap of the waterskin and the bundled weapons securely over his head and shoulder, he eased himself on to the anchor cable and began to work up towards the bows of the ship.

  Emerging from the water his skin tingled in the breeze, but the concentration and effort needed to edge forwards made him ignore the discomfort. He wormed his way up the cable, dripping as he edged towards the hawse, where it passed through the stout timbers of the grain ship. The further up he crawled, the more it began to sway, and his muscles tensed as he struggled to stay astride it. Then the timbers of the hull were within reach, and Cato held on with one hand while the other scrabbled up the weathered surface, over the side and gripped on. He pulled himself up, then grabbed at the side rail with his other hand. His shoulder muscles protested painfully as he drew his body up and peered over the side. There was no one visible in the bows. Beyond the foredeck there was a short drop to the main deck, where a sturdy hatch coaming led down into the hold. Aft, the deck rose up again to the steering platform. Several men lay or sat on the main deck, while one stood by the handle of the steering paddle, spear in hand. T h e stench of pitch filled the air and Cato saw a dull glow at the stern where a lamp burned inside a small leather screen. Ajax’s threat to burn the ships was quite real.

  Cato eased his feet up on to the cable and pressed down as he heaved himself over the side, controlling the movement as best he could so that he did not land on the deck with a thud. Instead, he landed on top of a man sleeping in the shelter of the ship’s side. There was a grunt as Cato’s knees winded the rebel, who gasped as he stirred to find a wet, near-naked figure sprawled over him. Cato bunched his fist and drove it into the rebel’s face, snapping his head back against the deck with a dull bump. He hit him again, and again, until he was certain the man was insensible.

  Cato sat on his haunches, his limbs shaking terribly from the cold and his exertions. He took a moment to rub himself vigorously to restore some warmth. Then he unfastened the length of cloth that bound his weapons, cursing under his breath as his fingers fumbled with the ties. As they came undone, he felt the reassuring touch of his sword blade. He crouched on the deck as he fastened the belt around his middle, and then cautiously rose up to help the next man over the side. It was Atticus, and a moment later he too was on the foredeck, armed and ready. More men swarmed up the anchor cable and joined them, while Atticus drew his dagger and cut the rebel’s throat.

  Once Atticus, Vulso, Musa and three other men were aboard and had their weapons to hand, Cato squatted down in front of them. ‘All ready? When I give the word, we head across the main deck. Go in fast, and show no mercy. I want the ship taken without the alarm being raised. Atticus, you take Vulso and Musa and make your way down the port side. I’ll lead the rest.’ H
e glanced round at the shadowy features of his men, most of whom were shivering, like himself, from the cold and the terrifying exhilaration of the instant before battle began. Cato grasped his sword firmly and turned aft. ‘Let’s go.’

  He kept low, crouching as he moved along the ship’s side, where he hoped the shadows might conceal him long enough to surprise the rebels. At the end of the foredeck, three steps led down to the long, broad expanse of the main deck. Three of the rebels were sitting on the edge of the hatch coaming, talking in muted tones as they shared a wineskin. Cato saw one of them lift it up and swallow several mouthfuls. As he approached them, he increased his pace to a trot, then a sprint, drawing back his sword. He slashed at the first man, cutting into his head with a soft crack before the rebel had even begun to turn towards the sound of the sudden rush of padding feet. The second man just had time to glance round before Cato punched him hard on the jaw and thrust him over the side of the hatch and into the hold. The third man lowered the wineskin and let out a choked gasp as Cato caught him with the backswing of his sword, cutting through the hand holding the wineskin and into the man’s neck. He crumpled on to the deck as the dark forms of the Roman legionaries swept on, hacking into the rest of the rebels.

  The sentry with the spear had been looking over the after rail, but he turned at the sound of the commotion on the main deck. Cato leaped up on to the aft deck before the man could react and ran straight at him. There was no time for the rebel to lower his spear, and Cato thrust his sword out an instant before he crashed into the man, slamming him back against the sternpost. Winded by the impact, the man could only gasp as Cato thrust his sword up into vital organs. There was a brief struggle before his enemy sagged and released his spear, which clattered on to the deck. Breathing heavily, Cato withdrew his blade and turned to see that the rest of the crew had been disposed of. He crossed to the oil lamp and hurriedly blew it out.