‘Next ship,’ he ordered softly, pointing to where another grain ship loomed in the darkness. He led the way across the main deck and peered cautiously over the side. There were two ropes securing the vessels to each other, and Cato indicated them. ‘Haul us in.’
His men took up the strain and braced their feet against the ship’s side. Slowly the gap closed and the grain ships collided with a gentle bump. At once Cato scrambled on to the next deck, followed by Atticus and the others. He heard cries from some of the other ships and the clash of weapons. A voice called out, sounding the alarm, and Cato realised the element of surprise had gone. He filled his lungs and cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Up the Twenty-Second!’
Musa echoed the war cry and it was quickly taken up by other voices in the darkness. Cato turned to Atticus. ‘Clear this ship.’
‘Yes, sir!’ ‘Musa? Where are you?’ A figure came towards him. ‘Sir?’ ‘You have the buccina?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ The legionary held up the curved brass horn. ‘Then sound it. As loud as you can.’ Musa fumbled for the mouthpiece, filled his lungs and blew for all he was worth. The first note was flat and clumsy, and while Cato swore, Musa spat and tried again. This time there was a sharp, shrill blare that cut through the darkness. Musa blew three short notes, rested and then repeated the signal.
‘Keep it going!’ Cato slapped him on the back and went to join Atticus and the others. As he made his way across the main deck, he stepped over a body and saw several figures struggling on the far side of the hatch. He hurried round, straining his eyes to make out friend from foe. Fortunately the legionaries were all stripped down to their loincloths while the slaves wore tunics and cloaks. Cato sensed a movement to his side, and turned to see a man emerge from a small cabin under the aft deck, falcata in hand. He ducked low, and lashed out with his sword, striking the man on the shin.With a cry ofagony he toppled back into the cabin and out of sight. Cato stayed in a crouch, looking round for another enemy. His heart was pounding in his chest and the cold and the tension made his body tremble. Musa was still blowing the buccina, and in the rests between the repeated notes Cato caught the strain of another faint blast of notes in the distance.The other group had begun seizing the beached ships then. Moments later, up on one of the hills overlooking the bay, a series of sparks flickered into life, quickly flaring up as the signal was passed on to the warships waiting out at sea.
Cato backed into the side of the ship and took stock. All around him in the darkness he could hear the sounds of the vicious struggle being waged across the decks of the grain ships lying at anchor and bound together.The legionaries were giving full vent to their voices, partly to encourage each other, but mostly to add to the terror of their enemies. From the shore came the sound ofmore horns and the faint roar of Fulvius and his men charging the flank of the rebel palisade. Cato puffed out his cheeks. So far it was going to plan. Now it all depended on keeping the momentum going, before Ajax and his men could mount any organised resistance to the surprise attack.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
What was that?’ Ajax eased himself up from his couch, ears straining to catch the sound he had heard briefly a moment before. One of his bodyguards stood before him, holding Julia’s arm firmly as she waited for Ajax’s inspection. A long linen stola had been found for her, dyed a vivid blue, and he had paused to admire the spectacle of the Roman woman from his couch. She was quite a beauty, he had mused to himself as he sipped a cup of watered wine. He had felt his lust stirring as he ran his eyes over her figure, and had begun to fantasise about the kinds of pleasure he might exact from her, while inflicting as much pain as possible, when the faint notes of a brass horn sounded in the distance. It came again. Three sharp notes, and a rest.
Ajax was instantly on his feet and running across the tent. He swept the tent flaps aside and ran out into the night, where he stopped and stared across the bay. In the light of torches and camp fires along the palisade, he saw men fighting on and around the redoubt, with tiny flickers of red light as sword blades flashed reflec- tions of flames. The notes sounded again, nearer than they should, and Ajax was puzzled for a moment, until he realised with a shock that the notes came from down in the bay, from the direction of the anchored grain ships. He ducked back into the tent and stabbed his finger at the woman.
‘Keep her here! Don’t take your eyes off her. If she escapes or is harmed, you’ll answer for it with your life!’
Snatching up his sword belt, he buckled it on as he ran towards the horse lines. Around him the men of his bodyguard were tumbling out of their tents and shelters to investigate the commotion on the far side of the bay.
‘Don’t just stand there!’Ajax shouted at them. ‘We’re under attack! Get your weapons and ride to the palisade! Move!’
He took the nearest ofthe horses kept saddled and ready for use at any time of day or night, and threw himself on to the animal’s back. Snatching at the reins, he kicked his heels in and urged the horse down the path towards the main body ofthe rebel camp.As he passed the cage where Centurion Macro sat behind bars, he heard the Roman cheering madly, but there was no time to stop and silence his tongue.Ajax resolved to do that the first moment that could be spared. It would be a pity to kill Centurion Macro quickly, but die he must, to honour the memory of his father. All around, figures were rising up in the glow of the camp fires and staring in confusion towards the distant fighting. Ajax bellowed at them to take up their weapons and make for the battle, before the Romans took the grain ships.
As he galloped through the camp, swerving here and there to avoid those who were too slow to react to the approaching rider, Ajax felt sick in the pit of his stomach. He had underestimated his enemy. He had been certain that the threat to destroy the grain ships, vital to the survival of Rome, would forestall any attempt to attack his camp. The ships had been carefully prepared by his men, flammable materials placed in the holds and doused with oil and pitch, ready to set on fire at the first sign of approaching Roman warships. So where were the fires? Ajax reined his horse in as he reached a small rise in the ground, and strained his eyes as he tried to make out what was happening across the bay. He could see one of the beached ships by the light of a brazier burning on the sand. Men were clustered about its bows, splashing in the shallows as they attempted to climb aboard and grapple with those defending the vessel. Then it hit him. The Romans had taken the ship. Taken all the ships . . . But then a sudden lick of flame from further down the beach lit up the deck and mast of one of the vessels. The fire caught and more flames gushed up into the night, accompanied by flickering tracery as the rigging started to burn. Out in the bay another fire started. N o t all the ships had been taken then. There might still be a chance to beat off the attack and seize the ships back from the Romans, or at least burn them all to prevent them falling into the hands of his hated enemy.
Several of his bodyguards had caught up with him, and Ajax raised his arm and called out as he charged on towards the beach: ‘Follow me!’
As they galloped on through the camp, he continued to call his followers to arms and order them to the beach. At the same time, part ofhis mind raged at himself. How had the Romans done this? How had they managed to get to the grain ships without being seen? He had taken every precaution. There were men watching all the approaches from land and out to sea.They could not have missed so many of the enemy. Surely? They must have used boats, but any boats would have been seen, even on this moonless night. It would only have been possible if they had swum the length of the bay, under the cover of darkness. That had to be it, he decided, furious with himself. He could not help a moment of grudging admiration for his enemy, and then the horses reached the beach.
A large group ofhis men stood clustered at the edge ofthe camp. Ajax halted and turned towards the riders following him. ‘Kharim! Are you with me?’
‘Yes, General!’ Kharim edged his mount through the others. He was naked save for a loincloth and his sword belt.
‘Stay h
ere. Get these men formed. You are to hold this part ofthe camp. If I send for you, come at once, you hear?’
Kharim bowed his head. ‘Yes, General.’
Ajax rode on, through the gates at the end of the palisade. They were inside the perimeter ofthe main camp and had been left open. Ahead of him there was utter confusion. Only one ship along the beach had been fired and it was now well ablaze, filling the air with the roar of its flames and the crackle of bursting timber as sparks swirled into the heavens. The intensity of the glare lit up the surrounding sand and water for some distance. The din of battle came from the far end of the beach, and yet all along its length -his men were visible clustered about the bows of the beached ships, trying to clamber aboard and get at the Romans, who were stripped to the waist and desperately holding them off with swords, spears and even oars.
The enemy on the ships were not the real danger,Ajax realised. It was the force rolling up his flank. If they could be thrown back, then the ships could be retaken later. He drew his sword and rode on, bellowing to the rebels along the beach,’Follow me! Follow me!’
He gathered more and more men as he hurriedly made his way towards the battle raging at the far end. The fight was not going well. The Romans had already overrun the redoubt and were surging forward over the sand, oblong shields smashing down their more lightly armed opponents, and then the legionaries finished off the rebels with thrusts from their short swords. Ajax knew that the vast majority of his men were no match for legionaries, but if they could amass a sufficient force to stall the attack, there was a chance the weight of numbers might yet force them back over the palisade. But first they had to be rallied.
‘Bodyguard! To me!’ Ajax bellowed above the clash of weapons, the thud of blows on shields and the cries of the wounded. Those horsemen who had followed him from the other side of the bay steadied their snorting mounts and held their weapons ready. Ajax saw that he had thirty or forty of them with him now. Enough to make a difference. He turned back towards the enemy, fifty paces along the beach, cutting their way through the dissolving ranks of the rebels as they began to fall back.
‘Charge!’ Ajax stabbed his sword out and dug his heels in. The horse whinnied, reared up for a moment and then plunged forward, head down and hooves thudding into the coarse sand as it galloped madly towards the enemy.
The rebels ahead ofhim heard the approaching horsemen and did their best to escape from their path, but several were mown down and trampled underfoot. Ahead of him, Ajax could see that the Romans were not in formation, but had scattered as they began their pursuit. At the head of his band of bodyguards, he crashed in amongst them. The legionaries were as well armoured as any man he had faced in the arena, and Ajax held his sword poised to strike at any unprotected arms, faces and throats. Two Romans stood ahead of him and were knocked aside as his mount slammed into their shields. Leaning to his right, the gladiator thrust down into the neck exposed as a legionary stumbled. It was a shallow thrust, no more than a few inches, but it would mortally wound his enemy, and Ajax rode on, keeping his head low. He saw a crested helmet to one side, and steered towards the centurion attempting to rally his unit.At the last moment the man turned, and in the glow ofthe ship blazing behind the gladiator his eyes widened. He was too late to react, and the tip of Ajax’s blade smashed through his eye, shattering his skull as it plunged on into his brain. Ripping the blade free, Ajax turned his horse again.
Glancing round, Ajax saw that his charge had broken the Roman attack. Several legionaries were down, some had grouped back to back in small clusters, while others were retreating along the beach. He had bought his men only a brief respite. Less than a hundred paces away, the second Roman formation was advancing towards the rebels, a solid wall of shields with standards raised behind the leading ranks. An order was barked and the legionaries clattered their swords against the sides of their shields, producing a deafening metallic din that unnerved Ajax’s horse.
‘Easy, easy there.’ He patted its flank and realised that his bodyguard was the only rebel group standing firm on the beach.The rest were falling back. With a hiss of frustration, Ajax knew that the fight on the beach was lost. It might still be possible to deploy Kharim’s men, many ofwhom had weapons and armour looted from the Roman soldiers they had killed. They might hold the legionaries back long enough for the rest of the army to be rallied, ready to hurl themselves on the hated Romans.
‘Fall back!’ Ajax ordered. ‘To the camp!’
The horsemen turned and rode back along the beach, covering the retreat of those on foot retreating before them. As they passed the ships, the Romans on board watched them silently, too exhausted to cheer as their enemy gave ground. But once they caught sight of their comrades advancing along the beach, below their standards, a cheer rose up, passed on from ship to ship, and as he heard it, Ajax’s lips twisted into a bitter snarl of frustration.
When he returned through the gateway of the palisade, he saw Kharim on his horse, watching intently. Catching sight of him, Kharim waved an arm and spurred his horse forward.
‘General! The sentries report another Roman force moving down from their camp.’ He thrust his arm up towards the slope. ‘Over a thousand of them, with cavalry on the wings.’
Ajax stared at him, then looked back at the enemy marching along the beach. Around him the rebels were milling about, directionless and afraid. He took a deep breath and roared,’Form ranks! Form up and hold your ground! We can win this! We can beat them! We’ve done it before and we can do it again! Stand firm!’
His shouts were interrupted by fresh notes from the Roman horns along the beach, answered by more blasts from the direction of the hills, and the clatter of swords on shields began again, rising to deafening intensity. T h e rebels began to shuffle back, and those on the fringes of the crowd beyond the gate began to disperse, hurrying away from the converging Roman forces.
‘Stand your ground!’ Ajax yelled again, but it was too late. Fear passed through the rebels like a wind, and a tide of men flowed into the night, back through the camp, as they ran to save their lives. Ajax watched them go, and his heart set like lead in his breast. He suddenly felt a terrible burden of weariness settle on his shoulders and he turned to face the oncoming Romans.
‘General!’ Kharim shouted. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Do?’ Ajax shook his head. ‘All is lost. There is nothing we can do but die with a sword in our hands.’
‘No!’ Kharim edged his horse alongside Ajax and grabbed his arm. ‘General, you still live, and while you live you can keep the fight against Romealive. If you die now, then it has been for nothing. While you live, the rebellion is not finished.’
Ajax turned and looked at him with a bleak expression. ‘What can I hope to achieve now, my friend?’
Kharim thought quickly. ‘We have hostages. We can still make a deal ifwe escape with them.There are some fishing boats in a small cove not far from your tent.’
For a moment Ajax wanted nothing more than a quick death. But then the sense of Kharim’s words penetrated his mind. The Parthian was right: the rebellion would never be over while some men kept the spirit of it alive in the hearts of the empire’s slaves. He must escape, and take the hostages with him.
‘Very well.’ He nodded to his comrade. ‘We will go. Come!’
He turned his horse and beckoned to his bodyguards, and then began to ride back through the camp around the end of the bay towards his tents on the peninsula beyond. On all sides the rebels gathered up their families and loot and fled from the approaching Romans. Ajax spared them a moment’s pity. The trap was closed. There would be no escape for them, only death or a return to slavery.
Three of the ships were on fire by the time Cato and his men had cleared the decks of the anchored vessels. Only two of the rebel fire parties had managed to set their ships ablaze before taking to their tenders and escaping towards the shore. The fire had spread to the third ship and all three now threatened the
rest of the vessels anchored in the bay.
‘Atticus!’ Cato called the optio over. ‘Gather up twenty men. We have to cut those ships out before the fire spreads any further.’
Cato turned and, with Vulso and Musa, made his way across the intervening vessels to the one next to the nearest burning ship.The heat from the flames roaring up from the vessel’s hold struck him a stinging blow, and he raised an arm to protect his face as he looked around. Two lines joined this ship to the one ablaze.
Cato crouched down in the shelter of the ship’s side to give his orders. ‘You two take the aft line. I’ll go forward.’
Crouching low, he scrambled to the hawse hole near the bows and drew his dagger.The cable was made from coarse hemp and was thick as a man’s wrist. He began to saw at it furiously.The deck around him was brightly lit by the burning ships and the hot air was filled with the roar of flames and the crack of timber bursting from the intense temperature generated by the blaze. Sparks and glowing shreds of sails swirled through the air, and Cato winced as one landed on his back. He shook it off and continued cutting at the rope, hoping that they could complete the job before the fire spread to any more ofthe grain ships. O n e of the strands of the cable parted and the tension instantly increased on the remaining strands, making them easier .to cut. Gritting his teeth, Cato worked at them with every ounce of his strength, the edge of the dagger biting through the dense material. Another strand parted and one remained, thin and hard as bone.
‘Come on, you bastard,’ Cato muttered. ‘Break.’
With a dull crack the dagger severed the last strand and the end of the cable vanished through the hole. Cato rose up and squinted into the heated air as he waited for the burning ship to drift away. Glancing aft, he saw Vulso and Musa running towards him.
‘Cable’s cut, sir,’ Vulso called out. ‘But she’s not moving off.’
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