The Gladiator Gambit

by Gavin Chappell

  Maccabeus woke up. ‘Where are we?’ he asked. ‘Give me water.’

  Camilla handed him the water skin and he drank deeply from it. He extracted a rod from the hold and started fishing.

  The fish he caught they had to eat raw, to Flaminius’ disgust. He had known worse provisions in his time with the legions, but recently he had been enjoying the soft life of the gladiator. He remembered last night’s feast fondly.

  ‘Down!’ Maccabeus hissed, and forced them both to the reed deck. Flaminius lay there, Maccabeus’s hairy paw on his shoulders. Covertly, he lifted his head and peered through the reeds.

  A large boat was passing, its painted wooden strakes glistening with Nile water, its square sail bellying in the lake breeze. On deck stood men in armour, eyes vigilant as they scanned the bank. In the prow sat a ballista.

  ‘I said “down!”,’ Maccabeus repeated, pushing Flaminius’ head forcefully to the deck.

  Flaminius lay motionless, listening to the creak of the hull, the gentle slap of water on the sides, the wind among the papyrus reeds, the distant crack of sails and rigging from the patrol boat. Ibis called to ibis amid the reeds, and in the distance a flock of gulls squabbled, but otherwise all was quiet.

  ‘Did you want us to get caught?’ Maccabeus added in a hiss.

  ‘I wanted to know what I was hiding from,’ Flaminius replied. ‘How often do the patrol ships cross the lake?’

  Maccabeus didn’t answer. ‘I’ve had my eye on you since I joined Apuleius Victor. I think you’re just what we need. And I’m not going to risk having you arrested or killed by Roman river patrols. Keep watch while I sleep.’ He lay down in the bow and was soon snoring again.

  Flaminius picked his teeth with a splinter of reed. Maccabeus had recruited them. That sounded promising. If this journey was to take them into the heart of the conspiracy, that was all to the good. It was now the fourth of the ten Days of Hadrian. If Avidius Pollio was right, six were remaining before the emperor made his surprise visit on the province. If the rebels were gathering in the Delta, that put them in a far better position to threaten the emperor than if they had remained in the Thebaid.

  Exactly how they had got there was becoming clear to Flaminius. Despite the tight security that had existed in Egypt since the Judaean revolt, it was possible for small groups of rebels to travel in secret through the backwaters, to mass in the more inaccessible tracts of the river. There had been river pirates in the Delta since the days of the Pharaohs, and no amount of policing had changed that. According to Ozymandias, mostly they were the local countryfolk, the Bucolics as he called them.

  Camilla was studying him. She must have no idea what was really happening. All she knew was that they were investigating Petrus’ death to provide evidence against his killers to the magistrate. The investigation had gone much further than that and yet she made no complaint.

  ‘Do you know where we are going?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Get some sleep,’ he said. ‘I’ll wake you for the next watch.’ He smiled as she lay down, at his own words as much as at her compliance. He was talking as if it was the middle of the night. But if they could only travel in the blackest midnight, day would be night now, and vice versa.

  Noon came and the sun blazed down. Nothing moved except an occasional scarab beetle flying past, wings sounding a droning hum. Flaminius erected a kind of shelter over the small boat using the cloak he had brought when Maccabeus and Camilla woke him. Back in the amphitheatre the public executions would be just beginning, the appetite of the mob for the blood soon to be shed would be whetted. Again he wondered how Apuleius Victor would react to their disappearance. The impresario had encouraged Flaminius to continue his investigation, even suggested that the two conspiracies might be linked. But he would have had a lot of explaining to do when he saw the prefect that morning.

  After the sun began to descend, Flaminius woke Camilla then lay down to sleep while she kept watch. He hoped their progress that night would be rapid. If they spent this much time crossing the Delta, the emperor would have been and gone by the time Flaminius returned—assuming that the rebels didn’t know he was coming. Assuming they were not plotting his assassination even now.

  But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Not many people in Egypt or elsewhere knew of Hadrian’s plans; Flaminius was one of the few, but he was hardly going to spread rumours. Neither was Avidius Pollio.

  That evening, Maccabeus rose, and after a supper of fish that Camilla had caught, they pressed on for the south-eastern end of the lagoon. Here, in a moment of unusual candidness, Maccabeus explained they would take to a canal that linked the lagoon with the Canopic Branch of the Delta.

  Near Heliopolis, the Nile forked out into seven main channels that made up the Delta; the first was the Canopic Branch, which reached the sea at Canopus, the notorious resort where Flaminius had spent a blissful week of leave that spring, glad to put behind him for the moment a life of peril and intrigue. Going left to right on a map, the other channels were the Bolbitine, the Sebennytic, the Phatnitic, the Mendesian, the Tanitic and the Pelusiac. Although rich farmland covered much of the area, the province was currently in the middle of the inundation of the Nile, and much of the Delta would be underwater. But maybe Maccabeus was counting on this. The threat of river patrols would have lessened since the inundation began, and the three fugitives would have better scope for their surreptitious travels.

  They reached the edge of the lagoon about midnight, spending an anxious few moments searching for the canal that would take them to the Canopic Branch—and where then, Flaminius didn’t know.

  Camilla stood up in the bow and pointed. ‘Isn’t that it?’

  Flaminius could nothing but blackness and reed beds, but Camilla’s eyesight must be better than his. Under her directions they were soon entering a broad channel carved out of the Delta mud. The ubiquitous reed beds clogged either side, and unseen things could be heard splashing through the water. To the east, in the direction they were taking, the lights of a town were visible.

  ‘Where’s that?’ Flaminius asked Maccabeus.

  ‘Shabour,’ he said briefly, heaving at the sweeps. ‘We must pass by that place to access the Canopic Branch.’

  Flaminius felt uneasy. Sailing across the lake was one thing; it had proved easy enough to evade patrols. But now they were entering inhabited country, the hinterland of one of many Delta towns perched on a muddy hillock above the level of the waters.

  He took over the rowing and they made their way gradually up the canal. No moon was visible, and the stars that had wheeled above the previous night were concealed by clouds. Luckily the canal proceeded more or less on an east west axis, and Flaminius, although as inexpert at navigation as most Romans, was able to keep them on an even keel.

  The moment they entered the canal, the reed banks behind them shivered and out shot a larger reed boat, paddled by eight men. Flaminius looked back, trying to work out if they were following them or simply heading in the same direction.

  The waters widened. Flaminius heard the splash of a steering oar from up ahead. He tensed.

  The clouds parted and the moon poured her light down upon the scene. Confronting them in the water was a boat like the one they had seen before, crewed by armoured legionaries. Even as Flaminius’ hands slipped from the oars, a harsh voice barked out from the prow, ‘Who goes there?’

  There was a hiss and a roar and a waft of naphtha as someone lit a beacon in the stern of the ship. The canal was lit up as bright as day. They had nowhere to go.

  —21—

  ‘Head for the bank!’ Maccabeus cried.

  ‘Are you out of your wits?’ Flaminius had seen the ballista in the prow, trained directly on them. ‘I’m surrendering!’ He could speak with an officer and make his identity known. It would be the end of the investigation, but if they could take Maccabeus prisoner and get the information they needed out of him…

  Even as he was formulating his new strategy, Macc
abeus snatched an oar from his hand and began rowing towards the bank as fast as he could. ‘Stay still or we shoot!’ roared a Roman voice. Maccabeus ignored it and kept paddling. They were almost at the bank when the voice bellowed, ‘Right, give them hell!’

  The wind whistled coldly. A volley of ballista shafts skewered the deck. The boat capsized, and all three fugitives were flung into the dark water. Flaminius splashed about, cursing Maccabeus, then struck out for the bank. The weapon he had taken for a ballista was a polybolos, an invention of the Greeks—a repeating ballista. He had heard about them, but never seen them in action: now he was experiencing their use at first hand, but he was too busy preserving his life to summon up any professional interest. As he reached the bank, he looked back.

  A newcomer had appeared on the scene—the reed boat that had been following them since they left the lake was bearing straight down on the river patrol vessel. Flaminius kept swimming.

  He reached the canal side and climbed up to find Maccabeus and Camilla crouching in the reeds, peering in the direction of the canal. Flaminius flung himself down beside them, sopping, then lifted himself on one elbow and followed their gaze.

  The reed boat was alongside the patrol vessel and its crew was swarming up the sides. Legionaries stood at the gunwales, swords drawn, hacking at the boarders as they came over, but even though several of the attackers fell with a splash into the water, more forced their way onto the deck where they fought on. Flaminius’ eyes widened. He recognised the attackers, or at least, he had seen their type before.

  ‘They look like gladiatrices,’ Maccabeus muttered.

  Flaminius glanced at him and nodded. ‘They’re dressed as women,’ he commented, as if this was something new to him as well. But surely he knew them. They were Bucolics, rebels like those he had encountered in the Thebaid.

  ‘I don’t care what they look like,’ Camilla panted. ‘They’ve given us a chance. We’d better take it while it’s still there.’

  ‘A chance?’ Maccabeus indicated the reed boat that had sunk in the canal. ‘We’re going nowhere.’

  Camilla got to her feet. ‘We can walk,’ she said determinedly, ‘until we find another boat to steal.’

  The canal was plunged into darkness again. Someone had doused the lantern on the patrol boat. Flaminius rubbed at his eyes. It was a while before he could see by the light of moon and stars.

  ‘Come on.’ Camilla led them up the bank. They reached the top of what proved to be a dyke. Flooded farmland spread away in the starlight. They were not going to get anywhere on that side. Water behind them, water before them. Only the bank was dry.

  ‘If we follow the dyke,’ said Maccabeus, ‘we’ll reach the Canopic Branch. Then, like you say, we can find a boat to steal.’

  ‘Is that the only way to our destination?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Up the Canopic Branch?’

  Maccabeus looked suspicious. ‘It’s the quickest route,’ he said, starting to walk. The other two followed him, and the sound of the fighting aboard the patrol vessel died away.

  A wind whipped at the drenched gladiators. At first it was cool and refreshing, but after a while it began to chill them. The canal was empty. They saw no sign of further patrols, or Bucolics for that matter. But the walking began to tell on them. At last they could go no further.

  Flaminius and Camilla stood side by side, gazing down at the darkness of the flooded arable country. Maccabeus was searching for somewhere where they could shelter for the night. ‘We’re losing time,’ Flaminius muttered.

  Camilla moved closer. ‘Are you in such a hurry?’ she asked.

  He looked at her abstractedly. Then he smiled. ‘We’ve come a long way from investigating Petrus’ murder,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to follow me any further, you know.’

  She reached out and caressed his cheek. ‘You think I have any alternative? We’ve been forced into this. Who knows where we’ll end up?’

  ‘Dead in a ditch, I expect,’ said Flaminius darkly. ‘We’re going nowhere. And we’re wasting time.’

  ‘You want to return to Alexandria, and the Family of Apuleius Victor?’ She sounded somehow anxious.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t share the source of his impatience with this girl. He couldn’t trust her with his secret. Not here and now. Maybe there would be a time. Or… what was there to lose?

  ‘Camilla, I…’

  ‘I’ve found a dry place to sleep, boys and girls.’ The dark shape of Maccabeus swam up out of the murk. ‘Follow me,’ he added.

  Flaminius glanced at Camilla. Her eyes were bright in the starlight. With tears?

  Unspeaking, they followed Maccabeus. Soon they were climbing down into the shelter of the dyke wall. Out of the wind, between the dyke wall and the flooded fields, they settled down for the night.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Camilla asked Maccabeus at dawn. None of them had slept well, and the gladiatrix was looking haggard. ‘If those Bucolics slaughtered the Romans on that patrol vessel, it won’t be long before this area is crawling with legionaries.’

  Maccabeus looked moodily into the embers of the fire. It had been quite a feat, lighting it on the boggy ground, although they had no food to cook on it. ‘We get to the Canopic Branch,’ he said. ‘That’s the first priority.’

  ‘If we knew where we were going,’ said Flaminius, ‘we could work out the best way to get there.’

  ‘No!’ said Maccabeus. ‘The less you know, the better. Besides, how well do you know the Delta? You’ve only been through it on pleasure barges, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘We’re to rely on you alone?’ Flaminius was openly hostile. He turned to Camilla. ‘Ah, we’re getting nowhere here.’

  ‘If you’re captured,’ Maccabeus said, ‘the less you know, the less you can betray.’

  ‘I’m not going to betray you,’ said Flaminius patiently.

  ‘Under torture?’ Maccabeus said. ‘You don’t know what their interrogators are capable of.’

  On the contrary, Flaminius knew perfectly well. Legionary torturers were the best in the world. Maccabeus had a point, certainly, and besides, he was right to suspect betrayal. The moment Flaminius knew where Arctos had his encampment, he would use every means at his disposal to get that information to the legate, the prefect, or wherever it would do the most good. Arctos was the head of the snake. If they could crush the head, the body would perish. If not, Arctos’ forces might seize control, kill the emperor, who knew what? It would be the Judaean revolt all over again, and this time with the emperor in the middle of it.

  The best course of action would be to send word to the emperor, instructing him to remain in Rhodes or wherever he was right now. But to do that Avidius Pollio would be admitting that he had allowed the situation to develop. And he would not be willing to sacrifice his career, not if Flaminius could expose the conspiracy.

  ‘We’re wasting time,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘Let’s get moving.’

  They made their way along the edge of the water in the lea of the dyke wall. The flooded fields stretched for many miles, the water broken up by half drowned palms and tamarisks and white walled villages atop muddy hillocks. Several times they sought cover as river patrols passed by on the canal. Camilla was right. Whatever had happened last night, and if the river pirates of the Delta shared the appetites of those of the Thebaid, he doubted much remained of the patrol. The other river patrols had been stepped up. Although the attack had nothing to do with them, they were suffering as a result.

  Who were these river pirates? They resembled the men Flaminius had met in the Thebaid, but Maccabeus knew nothing of them, that much was clear. Was there a link? Did Arctos control them all?

  And who was Arctos?

  At last the canal met the spreading waters of the Canopic Branch. The small town of Shabour straddled the canal. If they had come here in the now sunk reed boat, they would have had to pass through the town, and bringing them to the attention of the local river guards, town guards, canal guards, or whi
chever guards controlled this area. Flaminius surveyed his companions. Like him, they were bedraggled and haggard. The sun beat down but he was shivering. He hoped he wasn’t due for another bout of fever.

  There was a fishing village among the reeds, a short distance from Shabour. Reed boats were drawn up on the strand like basking crocodiles, larger than their boat, some with small white sails. Camilla pointed them out. ‘We could steal one of them.’

  ‘In broad daylight?’ asked Flaminius.

  ‘Wait until noon,’ said Maccabeus in a growl. ‘No one will be about.’

  With good reason, Flaminius told himself, but they couldn’t waste more time waiting until night. He agreed to the plan, and they concealed themselves in the reeds nearby to watch the settlement as the heat of the day grew and grew.

  In the growing heat boats and barges became as thick on the waters as flies. Women from the settlement went down to the banks to gather water while men set out to fish, children cleaned an earlier catch and cats stalked from shadow to shade carrying disapproval like a banner. Flies buzzed around piles of dung and rotting fish. The shadows grew shorter and at last the few people retired to their huts, including the fishermen who brought back a meagre catch.

  As soon as the last child had been carried off into the shelter of the huts, the fugitive gladiators crept out of the reeds into the full glare of the sun. They grabbed a boat and Flaminius and Maccabeus dragged it down to the water while Camilla kept her eyes open for signs of life from the huts. Soon the boat was bobbing on the waters. Flaminius found the steering oar and shoved them out into midstream while Maccabeus unfurled the small square sail and Camilla helped Flaminius by paddling. Soon the sleeping village lay behind them. The river traffic lessened due to the heat but vessels were still passing. Under Maccabeus’s direction, they turned south and began to paddle against the current.