Then why tell her at all? ‘Is there any food round here?’ she asked. ‘I’ve not eaten for a while, and all I’ve had is green lotus fruit and raw fish.’
‘I’ve sent men to cut up that carcass,’ Syphax hissed. ‘We’ll have crocodile steaks. Or are you so used to feasting and banqueting that you’ll turn up your pretty nose?’
Camilla knew full well her nose wasn’t pretty. ‘I told you, I’ve lived on raw fish,’ she growled. ‘I can eat crocodile meat with a will.’
Syphax vanished into a reed hut and returned bearing gladiatorial swords and armour. ‘Wear this,’ he said, dropping the armour in the dust at Camilla’s feet. ‘You’re to get in training straightaway. When Arctos comes here and sees you, he won’t think you’ve been wasting time. Even if you have lost Tiro.’
He walked off. Camilla strapped on the brief armour. How well would they be able to fight legionaries like the ones she had encountered, dressed in such impractical gear? She should speak to Arctos when she finally met him. Couldn’t he provide better armour?
She was happy she had met Brutus again. He had been her first. The only man who was man enough to take her. She’d fought him, of course, tooth and nail. But he had been stronger than other men. He had tamed her, he said. That the greatest gladiator in the world had tamed the greatest gladiatrix, like Theseus had tamed Hippolyta, or was it Antiope? They had been happy.
Brutus was a man of the aboriginal Sicanian people of Sicily. He had lived by robbery, like many of his people, and ultimately been enslaved for it. The life of the gladiator had been inevitable, and yet he had chafed at this existence, feeling a burning grudge against the mob who flocked to see the bloodshed. It was he who had taught Camilla that gladiators, gladiators who survived, were better than the mob, better even than emperors. The audience hung on everything the gladiators did, every cut, every thrust, every parry. Even slave-born gladiators were better than the gutter-bred back seat watchers, and free gladiators or venators were nobler than the equestrians and senators who sat in the closer seats. Even the blessed few in the imperial box, even the governor or emperor who decided the fate of the defeated, wouldn’t have that privilege, that choice between life and death, if it wasn’t for the gladiators. Like gods, the gladiators lived and died for the sins of the mob, sacrificed to ensure salvation for the many.
So Brutus had said, beating it into her night after night. The impresario had complained about him damaging valuable stock, but Brutus had soon shown Apuleius Victor who was master. And then Brutus had vanished. It had taken a long time before Camilla learnt where. And here he was, putting his words into practice, on the cusp of a revolt that would put that of Spartacus in the shade for all time.
She needed a breastplate at the very least. All Syphax had given her was a shoulder piece and an armguard and gauntlet, and a visored helmet. She needed a shield too. No one could fight for freedom in gladiator armour.
She hurried away.
—28—
When the alarm came, she was sparring with two gladiators, men she recognised from the games in Leptis Magna a year ago.
A native Egyptian sprinted through the clearing, heading for the tents. ‘Attack!’ he cried. ‘Attackers coming! Attackers!’
Camilla could not see beyond the palm trees. ‘The Romans?’ she asked, but the Egyptian had run on.
Leaving her two companions, she went in search of Brutus. She encountered Syphax instead, racing from the huts, two gladiators at his back.
‘They say we’re under attack,’ she told him.
Syphax pushed past her. ‘Follow me. We need to muster all the men.’
‘Is it the Romans?’ she asked, but he was already running down the path, his gladiators following. Sighing, Camilla hastened after them.
She caught up on the bank. Syphax was talking in Egyptian with the man who had been left on lookout, a native of the Delta. Nearby lay the carcass of the crocodile, fought over by smaller reptiles.
‘What’s he saying?’ Camilla asked.
‘He saw them approaching through the reeds,’ one of the gladiators rumbled. ‘In boats or afoot? Syphax is asking now. ‘On foot, says the lookout. No, not Romans, he adds. Egyptians. Bucolics.’
Camilla scanned the surrounding marshes. ‘I see no sign of them,’ she said. ‘What does he say they were like, these Bucolics?’
‘He says they wore the clothes of women.’ Syphax looked at Camilla. ‘Our allies in the south go into the fight dressed as women. It is said to make them invulnerable.’
‘I met Egyptians on my way here,’ she said, ‘who were like that. They attacked us. That’s why I was alone when I got here. Where are they now?’
Syphax asked the lookout, who shrugged, and said something, pointing. ‘They vanished behind a patch of reeds,’ Syphax told her. ‘Maybe they are on their way. He says he gave the alarm because…’
Camilla heard it first; a splashing sound; many men wading through the waters. From behind the bank of reeds that the lookout had indicated armed figures appeared. Egyptian women, she thought, but then she reminded herself. These were Bucolics. The Bucolics who had pursued her, she was sure of it.
The bushes rustled behind her and out came Brutus at the head of a large group of gladiators. They all carried hunting bows.
‘What’s the alarm?’ he demanded.
Camilla greeted him. ‘The Bucolics who pursued me,’ she said, ‘I’m sure it’s them.’
Brutus followed her gesture. His cruel eyes narrowed and he gave a growl.
‘They’re coming this way,’ said Syphax.
‘I see that,’ Brutus told him impatiently. ‘Have they made any attempt to contact us?’
Syphax shook his head. ‘The lookout says they are from the island of Nikokis,’ he said. ‘Feared throughout the Delta.’
‘Why have they not been recruited?’ Brutus asked. ‘They sound like just what we need to carry out our plan.’
‘They refuse to cooperate with other villages,’ Syphax said after speaking with the lookout. ‘They kill and eat any who approach them, unless they win their trust.’
Brutus gave orders for the archers to fit arrows to their bows.
Camilla remembered her captivity. She had abandoned young Tiro to these river pirates’ ministrations. Now they were coming—after her? Were they to be her Nemesis?
The men on the bank fell silent as the Bucolics of Nikokis advanced through the shallow waters. The sun danced on the waters, a wind moaned among the papyrus reeds. Ibis flew overhead. A scarab droned past.
When the Bucolics were within earshot—and arrowshot—Brutus called out, ‘Who goes there? We have you covered. Go no further until we have parleyed.’
One of the Bucolics stepped forward. ‘I am Kalasiris of Nikokis,’ he announced, a tall, massive man, incongruous in his woman’s clothes. Camilla recognised him as the leader of those who had captured her.
‘And what do you want with us?’ Brutus asked. ‘You come armed, I see. Do you wish to fight? I have heard your reputation throughout the Delta.’
Kalasiris shook his head. ‘We do not come to fight.’ A bound and hooded figure was pushed forwards. ‘We come to bring you a gift—and to make a proposition.’
Brutus exchanged glances with Syphax. Camilla stared at the Bucolics’ prisoner. She could see nothing of his face; a linen bag had been pulled over it, and he was tied up with ropes, but she had her suspicions. Her pulse quickened, and she looked guiltily at Brutus.
‘What gift?’ the Sicanian called. ‘And what proposition?’
‘Let me join you,’ Kalasiris called back, ‘and we can discuss it fully.’
‘You can stay where you are,’ Brutus told him. ‘I’m not letting you up here. Stay put. My archers have you covered.’
Kalasiris laughed. ‘Frightened? I’ll only come with a few men. We’ll keep the prisoner back here, though, until we know you want to accept him.’
He had a whispered conversation with another Egyptian, the only one
wearing men’s clothes—a white linen kilt and skullcap. During this, Brutus spoke to Syphax.
‘They may mean to put us off our guard,’ he asserted. ‘We should tell them to leave. Fill them with arrows if they don’t.’
Syphax shook his head. ‘We don’t want to make enemies with them. If we massacre this group more will come, and they won’t be in a parleying mood.’
‘I wonder who their prisoner is,’ said Camilla quietly.
‘Someone they think we want,’ said Syphax. ‘Who could that be?’
Brutus shouted to Kalasiris, ‘Advance, with two other men.’
Kalasiris and a couple of his fellow Bucolics waded over to the bank. With arrows trained on them they scrambled ashore, leaving the rest of their people, and their captive, standing in the marsh. Accompanied by an escort of mistrustful gladiators, they approached Brutus.
‘We welcome you to these waters,’ said Kalasiris, ‘that is all. We have been aware of your presence for some time now. We wished to contact you.’
‘You bring gifts,’ Brutus observed. ‘The Greeks brought gifts to Troy.’
‘We are not Greeks,’ said Kalasiris. ‘Our people have dwelt in the Nile Delta for over a thousand years. We bring a gift—a token of our esteem—and a proposition. We would join forces with you. You hate the Romans just as we do. We would see the tax gatherers and the river patrols driven from our country.’
‘What gift is it that you bring?’ Syphax asked. ‘Do you mean your prisoner?’
Kalasiris nodded. ‘A spy,’ he said. ‘We would hand him over to you so you can deal with him in a fitting manner.’
Camilla gave an involuntary gasp. Brutus glowered at her. ‘A spy?’ he said, not looking at Kalasiris, still giving Camilla a baleful stare.
‘A spy for the Romans. We have taken him prisoner,’ said the Egyptian. ‘He came into the marshes spying on us. On you.’
‘Did he come alone?’ Camilla asked abruptly.
Kalasiris smiled. ‘He had two companions,’ he said. ‘One was killed by crocodiles. The other…escaped.’
Camilla did not take her eyes from him. ‘Let us see this man.’
‘Silence!’ Brutus instructed her. ‘I make the decisions here, in lieu of our leader. You! Bring the spy here,’ he told Kalasiris.
Kalasiris waved to his men. Two of them took the prisoner by his arms and urged him on through the marsh waters. Camilla watched in trepidation. Surrounded by gladiators, the two Egyptians and their captive joined Brutus. One of the Egyptians was the man Camilla had seen before, the only one who wore normal clothes. He looked more like a scribe than a herdsman.
Brutus looked the prisoner up and down.
‘This is the spy, then,’ he said, reaching forwards. ‘A Roman spy?’
He tore the hood from the prisoner’s head. Syphax grunted in surprise. With a sinking feeling of inevitability, Camilla gazed at the face revealed.
‘Tiro,’ she said with a sob. The youth looked utterly bewildered.
—29—
‘Lock him up in that hut,’ commanded Brutus, indicating a shack nearby. ‘You and you,’—he pointed at two gladiators— ‘stand guard over him. When Arctos comes here, he will want to question this…spy.’ He knocked the prisoner to the ground.
Camilla cried out. Syphax and Brutus both stared at her in surprise. Syphax’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a low laugh, then glanced at Brutus.
‘What is this wailing, woman?’ the Sicanian bellowed. ‘I thought I’d knocked that out of you long ago.’
‘Nothing,’ said Camilla. ‘I know the prisoner, that’s all. Syphax knows him too, don’t you?’
‘Never seen him before,’ said the Nubian.
Camilla shook her head. ‘It’s Tiro, Syphax. He was with us in the Family of Apuleius Victor. Surely you remember.’
The two gladiators picked up the semi-conscious prisoner and carried him over to the hut. ‘Were you and he lovers?’ Brutus demanded.
Camilla shook her head. ‘He’s only a boy,’ she said.
‘He’s no man, that I’ll tell you,’ Brutus said, pounding himself on the chest. ‘Not like me. But I think you and he were lovers!’ He raised a threatening fist.
Before Brutus could knock Camilla down again, one of the Egyptians spoke, the man who looked like a scribe. ‘Does our prisoner not buy us into your army, gladiator?’
Brutus lowered his arm and swung round. He gave the small Egyptian a contemptuous glance. ‘You can join us,’ he told him, ‘but until we know you better, you’ll be kept under guard.’
‘Are we to be prisoners?’ the Egyptian asked angrily. ‘We brought you a spy. We bring you warriors. And you’d put us under guard?’
Brutus’ face split with a cold smile. ‘Until our leader has spoken, I can give you no assurances. I cannot let join us without his decision.’
The Egyptian peered ostentatiously around Brutus. ‘Where is your leader? I’d speak with the man in charge, if you are only his lackey.’
Brutus’ eyes flared like embers. ‘He is not here. Take your men over to that clearing.’ He told off guards to keep watch over the newcomers, who sat down in the dust between two stands of palm trees amid much complaining and chatter.
Camilla watched in silence. Brutus and his men returned to sparring. Camilla knew she should do the same. But her eyes drifted towards the reed hut where two gladiators stood on guard. The hut containing Tiro.
It grew hotter. The gladiators gave up training until afternoon, moving into the shade to laze or sleep. The stillness was broken only by the lapping of water on the bank and the distant whirring of errant scarabs. Camilla took a water skin from another gladiator and drank deeply, then splashed some more over her face and chest. ‘Thanks,’ she said, returning it. She put her armour and weapons away in a hut and went looking for somewhere to sleep.
Somehow, she drifted close to the hut where Tiro was imprisoned. Both guards were nodding at their post. Even as she watched from between two trees, they both sat down and leant against the rickety wooden wall, removed helmets and mopped brows, drank thirstily from water skins. Camilla looked about her. Although lookouts were stationed on the edge of the island, otherwise people slept or dozed.
She could stand it no more. Gliding across the clearing she stepped over the snoring guards and unbolted the door to the hut.
As she entered the cool gloom she was seized from behind, her arms pinioned behind her back.
Her assailant halted abruptly, and let her go. ‘Camilla?’ came a familiar voice. ‘Is that you?’
She turned, and there he was. She called him a lad, but Tiro must have been in his mid-twenties. A thicket of stubble blued his chin. His eyes were a different shade of blue, the blue of the skies at harvest time. They regarded her in puzzlement that was endearing. She felt a pang of guilt for abandoning her to the Bucolics.
‘It’s me,’ she rumbled. ‘I came to see you.’
‘I’m surprised you’re willing to speak with a spy.’ He squatted down in one corner of the otherwise empty hut.
‘I spoke with you before,’ she said, ‘during our journey. And I knew you were a spy then.’
His face paled. ‘You knew?’ He looked down at the ground. ‘Jove curse it!’
‘You are a spy, aren’t you?’ she asked doubtfully.
He patted the earth beside him. ‘Come and sit next to me,’ he said.
She examined the ground doubtfully. ‘I’d rather stand.’
‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘I’m getting a sore neck looking up at you.’
Primly she smoothed down her leather skirt and sat down. The ground felt gritty beneath her. She still looked down at him. He was probably a normal sized man, but beside hulking gladiators he seemed small, like a boy. Like a bewildered boy who didn’t understand the ways of the world.
‘I can’t stay long,’ she said. ‘I only came because your guards were asleep.’
‘Asleep?’ He looked away. ‘So I could come and go as I pleased? Or wo
uld you stop me? Why have you come here?’
‘You could escape,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But if you tried, I think I’d have to stop you.’
He smiled at her. ‘I won’t put you in that position,’ he said. ‘I’ll be a good little Tiro and stay here.’
‘What is your real name?’ she asked. ‘And why did you come here?’
‘Oho,’ he said, and tapped his nose. ‘You were sent to interrogate me? Soften me up?’
She scowled. ‘Do you trust no one?’ she demanded.
‘It’s the best policy.’ He gave her a charming smile. ‘After all…’ he added slowly. ‘Why should I trust you?’
She rose to her feet. ‘I should be going.’
‘No.’ He reached up and tugged at her arm. ‘Sit down again. I’m sorry I said that.’
Her mouth a downturned line, she sat. ‘All the same,’ he said, ‘you did abandon me to those Bucolics.’
‘They didn’t kill you,’ she said sharply.
He shook his head. ‘No. They didn’t kill me.’
She looked away. ‘They took you prisoner,’ she said, ‘and brought you here as a diplomatic gift. So they could join our cause. But they didn’t kill you.’
‘Do you think Arctos will?’ Tiro asked.
She sighed, and regarded him. ‘I couldn’t say,’ she told him.
‘Hasn’t he said anything?’ Tiro asked. ‘Apart from knocking me about? He wasn’t very charming to you, either.’
‘Oh!’ said Camilla, amused. ‘That wasn’t Arctos. Arctos isn’t here.’
‘Not here?’ Tiro exclaimed. ‘Where is he, then? And who was that barbarian I met?’
‘Now who’s the interrogator?’ she said with a quirk of a smile. Tiro shrugged. ‘I don’t know where Arctos is right now,’ she went on, ‘but he’s supposed to be coming here soon. And the barbarian, as you call him, is Brutus.’
His eyes widened. ‘Brutus? The first one from the family to disappear?’
She nodded. ‘Brutus and I…’ She broke off.
‘Oh,’ said Tiro, patting her on the arm. ‘I see.’ Her skin tingled from the brief contact. ‘Is that why you left me to be taken prisoner by the Bucolics?’
The Gladiator Gambit Page 19