The Gladiator Gambit

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘If this journey is supposed to be a secret,’ Flaminius told him, ‘you’d better keep your bull-roars to yourself. I suggest we go upstream a mile or two and then see if we can find a safer source of firewood than an anthropophagi feasting pit.’

  Going ashore a quarter of an hour later they found enough firewood to build a more wholesome cooking fire. After eating their lentil stew, they took it in turns to sleep and go on watch.

  It was Flaminius who was on sentry duty when the sun rose above the reeds, huge and shimmering on the horizon, to be greeted by the howls and calls of unseen wildlife. A few fishing boats were visible further down the bank, and a river patrol was passing rapidly on the far side, heading downstream at a rate of knots. The night’s chill was gone and a soft rose light turned the waters golden.

  Camilla woke and joined him watching the river. ‘Do you know where we’re going?’ he asked her.

  ‘How would I?’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m as much in the dark as you are.’ She gave the bank a look. ‘Do you suppose there are anthropophagi in there, even now?’ she asked.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’ Flaminius went to wake their guide. ‘Maccabeus’ snores will have frightened them off.’

  Yawning like a river horse Maccabeus waddled over to help himself to cold lentil stew. After they had all breakfasted, they took to the river again, and before an hour had passed, reached the great dividing of the ways just north of Memphis where the main stream of the Nile split into its two chief branches, the Canopic, which they had been following, and the Pelusiac, which led north eastward to form the other main line of the delta-shape that had given this area its Greek name. Due to the inundation the Delta was more like a huge lake at this time of year, and the channels were difficult to distinguish from flat stretches of water that would have been farmland at any other time of year.

  At this point the waters were even busier, and river patrols made up much of the traffic. Maccabeus replaced Flaminius at the steering oar and to the Roman’s surprise he turned them about mid-stream and guided them up the Pelusiac Branch. Maccabeus was taking them by a circuitous route. Usual process, of course, when leading recruits who could pose a security risk to a hidden base. But it seemed like so much timewasting to Flaminius.

  North-eastwards they sailed. The Pelusiac Branch proved as busy as the Canopic, and their small vessel was forced to inch its way between large boats. River patrols infested the waters. Maccabeus sweated every time one passed, and Flaminius smiled secretly to himself.

  ‘What are you worried about?’ he asked, after the third river patrol had passed them, the legionaries aboard staring impassively down from beneath their helmets. ‘We’ve got the right papers, remember? Thanks to me.’

  But Maccabeus seemed unconvinced. ‘You don’t know the Romans like I do, Tiro,’ was all he would say. ‘Now take this oar again.’

  Flaminius bit off the obvious answer, and did his best to keep an even keel as they sailed on past the semi deserted city of Heliopolis, currently an island where obelisks reared to the sky in praise of the sun now rising towards its zenith. They moored on the right bank, near where a native herd led his cattle through shoulders deep water towards a heap of fodder on higher ground. Maccabeus went ashore and spoke to him. They vanished from sight.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Where’s Maccabeus gone?’

  Camilla was lying in the shade of the sail. ‘To talk to the Bucolic, I think,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t think he’ll get eaten. Maybe he’ll find us some food.’

  If Maccabeus was taking them to Arctos’ encampment, he was up to his neck in the rebellion. Was Maccabeus himself a crossdressing cannibal? Or was that only an Egyptian habit? Uneasily, Flaminius scanned the bank. No sign of Maccabeus. Despite her reassurances, the word Camilla had used to describe the herdsman worried him.

  ‘I think I should go and look for him,’ he said at last. ‘You stay here and I’ll go ashore.’

  Lazily, she opened one eye. ‘You worry too much, Tiro,’ she told him. ‘He’ll be fine.’

  Flaminius went to the side. The sun beat down as he jumped down onto the muddy bank.

  ‘Where are you going, Tiro?’

  Hearing the familiar voice, he looked up. Silhouetted against the sunlight was the broad shape of Maccabeus. In one hand he carried a trussed fowl, in the other he had a handful of what proved to be radishes. His legs were plastered with mud.

  Flaminius relaxed. He helped Maccabeus aboard then climbed up himself. ‘I was wondering where you had gone,’ he said as Camilla took the fowl and wrung its neck.

  They ate well that noon, then slept. Flaminius woke an hour or two later with a bad taste in his mouth. What was happening in Alexandria? This was the fourth of the Days of Hadrian. How long would it be before they reached Arctos’ encampment, if that was truly where they were going? And how long before Flaminius gleaned enough intelligence for the legion to crush the incipient revolt?

  Maccabeus stirred, then leant over to shake Camilla awake.

  They set out again that afternoon. Their route took them through river traffic that grew thicker as they approached what Maccabeus told them to be the city of Bubastis, centre of the Egyptian cult of their cat goddess, who the Romans identified with Diana. But once they had passed the temple city and were sailing on down the wide waters beyond it, they saw an encounter between a river patrol and a fishing vessel that shook Flaminius’ faith in their documentation.

  The patrol vessel was sailing away from Bubastis. The water was thick with boats, but the river patrol went straight for a fishing vessel ahead of their own reed boat. An altercation broke out between the fishermen and the legionaries. They were too far off for the argument to be fully audible, but one of the fishermen waved a papyrus scroll as if it was a magical talisman. The centurion on board barked an order to the men on the polybolos, who opened fire.

  ‘Avast!’ Maccabeus cried over the screams of the dying fishermen. Camilla put down her paddle. The reed boat drifted on the waters, but while they had been going against the current all the way up the Canopic Branch, now they were sailing downstream, making much better progress. Their drift was taking them straight towards the fishing boat, now surrounded by waters stained red, and the patrol vessel beyond it.

  Maccabeus gave Flaminius a jaundiced look. ‘Now will your papers get us out of here?’

  Flaminius gasped. ‘They didn’t even look at those fishermen’s documents!’

  ‘Something’s happened,’ Camilla surmised as they drifted inexorably. ‘Maybe it was those rebels. But the Romans have been stirred up. They’re running scared. They’re shooting on sight…’ Her voice grew shriller the closer they came to the anchored patrol vessel.

  ‘Paddle!’ shouted Flaminius. ‘Steer for the bank!’

  ‘Are you mad?’ Maccabeus barked. ‘They’ll shoot us too!’

  Flaminius shook his head. Camilla, on the starboard, started paddling, and they turned leeward. He pulled on the steering oar. ‘Those things take time to reload,’ he said. The centurion on deck had noticed their movement, and was gesticulating angrily at the ballistics team.

  Maccabeus started paddling. ‘You’d better be right, Tiro,’ he said, ‘or you’re be dead—us with you.’

  ‘If we get ashore,’ Flaminius asked, ‘will we be able to walk to our destination?’

  Maccabeus laughed scornfully. ‘Walk? Through that part of the Delta?’ he said. ‘It’s flooded, not to mention infested by crocodiles and Bucolics.’

  ‘What’s the difference between them and the people we’re going to join?’ Flaminius asked.

  Maccabeus looked outraged. He was about to reply when Camilla cried out, and the air filled with a hissing like a thousand serpents. Flaminius let go of the steering oar and flung himself at the deck, dragging Camilla with him. The water erupted, spraying across the three of them. The shouting of the commanding officer drifted across the waters. Flaminius looked up. The river patrol vessel was a hive o
f activity.

  ‘Our trigger-happy centurion has got our range,’ Flaminius said through gritted teeth. They were about forty-five cubits from the bank but he couldn’t see any crocodiles. ‘Swim for it,’ he urged. ‘Before they reload again.’ Putting action to his words, he slipped over the side.

  ‘Come on!’ he urged, treading water.

  Maccabeus looked at him, at the shore, then at the river patrol vessel. Camilla showed no such indecision, diving overboard and sending up a greater spray of water than the bolts. Maccabeus joined her.

  Flaminius reached the bank first, dragging himself through the reeds onto drier ground. Camilla joined him soon after, then Maccabeus.

  ‘Fire!’ came a distant voice. Even as it reached them, the reeds whistled and crackled while a rain of bolts shot through it. Flaminius flung himself to the ground. Maccabeus cried out in pain and fell, clutching at his leg.

  ‘We’d better move,’ Camila said, hauling Maccabeus to his feet. A bolt jutted from his leg. Flaminius snapped it, leaving the head buried deep in the big man’s thigh. ‘I don’t think they’ll risk coming ashore, but they can sit there in the water and shoot at us.’

  Maccabeus, sobbing with pain, put his arms round their necks and allowed them to lead him away. As they made their way through the thickets of reeds, another volley of bolts plunged into the vegetation behind them.

  Flaminius waded through the flooded reeds until at last they came up another bank into an overgrown stretch of dry land where palm fronds waved and the going was treacherous underfoot with fallen stones. Turning a corner, he saw a vine grown obelisk, easily as tall as any palm tree. Nearby stood something that he realised was an androsphinx, half buried by more vegetation.

  ‘Where are we?’ he asked. ‘It looks like the ruins of a city.’

  ‘It is,’ gasped Maccabeus. ‘We can find somewhere to hide here until the Roman patrols move on. Over there!’ He pointed at the tumbledown ruins of an ancient temple or palace. Baboons barked in the distance and ibises flew overhead. The three fugitives approached the dark entrance.

  ‘Let’s get you in there,’ said Flaminius. ‘We want to take a look at that leg.’

  They hauled him into the shelter of the monumental archway and Flaminius peered at the wound in Maccabeus’ thigh. It didn’t look healthy.

  —24—

  ‘I’ll be alright,’ the big gladiator insisted, trying to rise.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Flaminius, pushing him gently but firmly back down. ‘You need to rest.’ He was in a quandary. They were wasting time again; the longer they spent wandering the flooded Delta, the less chance they had of foiling the conspiracy before the emperor’s visit. But without Maccabeus they had no hope of finding Arctos’ encampment.

  ‘What if they come after us?’ Maccabeus moaned.

  ‘They won’t,’ said Camilla.

  Dozens of birds flew screaming into the tree canopy. Flaminius wheeled round, eyes wide, trying to penetrate the gloom. There were people out there. Had the Romans come ashore? He saw nothing, but he could hear a group of people moving around.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ he whispered. ‘Someone’s out there. Several someones.’

  ‘The patrol?’ gasped Maccabeus.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Flaminius. ‘If it’s not… well, what was it you were saying about Bucolics?’

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ Camilla grunted, ‘Get to safety.’

  ‘Wherever that might be,’ Flaminius said under his breath. A little louder, so they could hear him, he said, ‘Keep quiet. And listen.’

  The crashing in the undergrowth moved closer. Flaminius could see nothing but shadows beneath the trees. No glint of light on armour. Was it the Romans, or was it the Bucolics Maccabeus feared? The noises grew closer.

  Several figures swam into sight in the darkness beneath the trees. They halted on the edge of the clearing, no more than dark silhouettes. Flaminius pressed himself to the ground, as did Camilla. Maccabeus bit his lip and tried to ignore the pain of his leg.

  Shadows grew, and the temperature decreased. Flaminius realised that night was not far away. Another day had gone, another day closer to the emperor’s visit. And what would his imperial majesty find when he got there? A country up in arms? Or peace?

  Camilla gave a deep sigh. Flaminius glanced at her, warning her with his eyes to keep quiet. She caught his eyes, then nodded in the direction of the trees. Flaminius looked back. What he had thought were watching figures were shadows.

  ‘There were people,’ he insisted.

  ‘Yes,’ said Camilla. ‘I saw them too. But they melted away into the trees.’

  Flaminius glanced back. Had they really gone, or had they just withdrawn? Were they still watching from the deep shadows?

  Maccabeus groaned in pain. The flesh around the bolt head was red and inflamed.

  ‘What can we do?’ Camilla asked. Flaminius said nothing.

  Maccabeus’ head fell back. Camilla grunted.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  Flaminius checked his pulse. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He’s fainted.’

  Camilla laughed. Flaminius glared at her. She calmed herself. ‘It’s funny, though,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it? The big gladiator fainting like that?’

  ‘It’s not funny at all,’ said Flaminius furiously. ‘Only Maccabeus knows where we’re going.’ He shook his head. Camilla looked away, shamefaced. ‘I don’t know what we can do except to try to remove the bolt from his leg. But that might well worsen it. It’s at risk of infection even now.’

  He remembered the medics he had known, Greek frauds the lot of them. But now he wished he had someone like Xenocrates of Rhodes with him. He would know what to do. Flaminius looked out of the temple arch. Maybe something out there would be of use, some healing herbs.

  He turned to ask Camilla if she knew anything of medicine, but the gladiatrix lay on her flank, snoring gently. Even as he watched, the light was draining away. The sun god was returning to the underworld.

  Camilla was asleep. Maccabeus was unconscious. Among the trees, men were waiting. The Romans? It seemed unlikely. They would have just marched straight in and seized the three of them. Or even killed them. He was still shocked by the casual massacre he had witnessed. It was a sign the legionaries were scared. Camilla had been right. Something must have happened for them to be like that. An attack by rebels seemed likely. He remembered the cooking pit he had found when they went ashore the previous night.

  It was cold. He shivered, lying down between Camilla and Maccabeus. He wished he could fall asleep as easily as the gladiatrix, but he lay there for a long time, peering into the darkness, listening to the night noises, the chirping of crickets and an occasional roar, unable to sleep.

  Sunlight slanted in through the trees, illuminating the cavernous interior of the half-ruined edifice. Camilla stood with her back to him as he awoke, gazing up intently at the fading frescoes on the walls, which showed what Flaminius took to be Pharaoh hunting water fowl among the reeds with the aid of a throwing stick. Maccabeus was still asleep.

  ‘What’s for breakfast?’ he asked.

  Turning, she made a face at him. ‘Lotus fruit,’ she said, pointing at a heap of fruit piled on a fallen stone nearby. ‘I picked them at dawn. But they’re not ripe yet.’

  ‘Lotus fruit, eh?’ Flaminius remembered Homer’s story of the Lotus Eaters. ‘Will this spell the end of our odyssey?’ He tried one.

  Camilla was right, it was still some weeks away from ripeness. But it would have to do. And if it brought on drowsiness and idleness, like in the poem, someone else would have to rescue the province from the rebels. Right now, he was too hungry to worry about the fate of empires.

  ‘You’ve been out?’ he asked, mouth still full.

  She nodded. ‘There’s a whole city out there,’ she said. ‘Ruined, all of it. Overgrown. In some places, people have come to take away the stones, for building, I suppose. But there are obelisks and sphinxes and all manner of
things under the vegetation.’

  ‘I saw some of it when we came here last night,’ he said.

  It was morning on the fifth of the Days of Hadrian. He was no closer to learning what linked the gladiators of the Family of Apuleius Victor with the rebels of the Thebaid, and the celebrations in the name of the emperor were halfway through.

  He rose, and peered down at Maccabeus. ‘Any idea where he was taking us?’ he asked. Camilla didn’t answer.

  Maccabeus’ face was slick with sweat. A pair of feverish eyes opened suddenly, and stared up at him. ‘You’re awake,’ Flaminius said. He looked up and beckoned Camilla over, then knelt down beside Maccabeus. ‘Can you walk?’ he said. He looked down at the big man’s leg. It was still red and throbbing.

  ‘I think so,’ Maccabeus said. He tried to get up but almost fell, and both Flaminius and Camilla had to grab him then lower him back to the ground. Camilla had prepared a bed of palm leaves.

  ‘Time’s pressing,’ Flaminius said. ‘We need to get to our destination. Can you not direct us?’

  Maccabeus shook his head. ‘Go there without me and they’ll kill you,’ he told him hoarsely.

  Flaminius examined Camilla, who returned his gaze impassively. He wondered if this was true, or just another security precaution. It seemed highly likely. But all he really needed was to learn the location of the rebel encampment, and then he could find a patrol or two to take it out. If they were as trigger happy with rebels as they were with fishermen, the rebellion would be over in no time.

  ‘Are we nearby?’ he persisted. ‘We could get help for you.’

  ‘From them?’ Maccabeus shook his head. ‘They have a short way with cripples.’

  Flaminius examined his leg again. ‘You’re not crippled,’ he reassured him. ‘You just need rest and medical attention. But we’re not going to get that in a ruined temple. I’ll go out and look for them.’