Flaminius tried to choke out a reply, but Syphax wasn’t listening. Spots appeared before his eyes and the red shot darkness was turning grey.
‘How did you bend the Bucolics to your will?’ Syphax shook him. All around the sounds of fighting still raged. Flaminius snatched his hands away.
‘Stop throttling me and maybe I’ll tell you!’ he gasped.
Syphax gritted his filed teeth. ‘I’d rather kill you than listen to your serpent tongue!’ He went for Flaminius’ throat again but the Roman grabbed his wrists. With a manful effort of his exhausted body, he forced Syphax off him, rolled over, and pinned him to the ground. Syphax snarled and whined and struggled.
‘They captured me,’ Flaminius said, ‘but then I discovered one of them was an old friend. An agent. He had sent them looking for me.’
‘An agent?’ Syphax said. ‘Then you are a spy. I always thought so. Even Apuleius Victor had his doubts about you, that fool.’
‘Fool?’ said Flaminius. ‘He smashed your leader’s crime ring in the city. Now I’ve smashed this revolt.’ He gestured at the fighting figures on every side. ‘It’s all over, Syphax. All I need to do is take Arctos prisoner and bring him to justice. If you’re not a fool, you’ll help me.’
He rose. Grinning like a jackal, Syphax sprang up and tried to seize Flaminius. But the Roman had been expecting this, and even as Syphax came at him, he kicked the man in the chest. Syphax staggered backwards, then snatched a knife from his belt.
Flaminius flung himself at Syphax’s legs and brought him down in a confusion of limbs. The Nubian tried to stab him in the heart. Flaminius seized Syphax’s knife wrist in one hand, his throat in the other. The man’s windpipe constricted in his grasp; his face was livid with anger. He struggled to break free. Flaminius gritted his teeth and squeezed harder.
‘You are a fool, Syphax,’ he said. ‘You’re going to die, here, you and the rest of your kind. All because you’re following a bigger fool. I don’t have time for this…’
Eyes bulging, Syphax forced his knife hand downwards. The Nubian was fitter than Flaminius, and had not undergone the same tortures. Flaminius felt his hold crumble, and the knife plunged down. At the last second, he twisted out of the way, and the weapon scored a shallow gash down his side. Syphax threw Flaminius to the ground.
The Roman hit it with an impact that winded him. Wheezing, he tried to rise. Syphax stood over him, teeth bared in a cruel smile.
‘I don’t fear death,’ the Nubian boasted. ‘Death is my constant companion. I am a gladiator!’ He lifted the knife.
Flaminius tensed himself to roll away, but he was exhausted. He heard someone cry out. The knife flashed down.
Flaminius jerked out of its path. The blade jutted from the sand before his eyes. Syphax’s hand still gripped the hilt, but his fingers were crooked into claws. His mouth frothed. His hand shook spastically, then quivered into stillness.
‘Flaminius!’
Ozymandias stepped over Syphax’s corpse, stopping to inspect the wound he had made in the man’s back, then held out a hand. A small group of Bucolics was with him.
‘What are you doing?’ the Egyptian said. ‘We’ve got a battle to fight!’
‘Arctos…!’ Flaminius picked up a fallen sword and pointed at the hut. ‘He’s hiding in there.’
Ozymandias put a few of his men on guard outside the hut. ‘Arctos can wait. My people need all the help they can get.’
Men were fighting amid the darkness. Most of them had been forced back from the encampment by the gladiators. Ozymandias and his Bucolics had been attempting a pincer manoeuvre when they found Flaminius and Syphax struggling amid the shambles of dead men.
‘Now!’ shouted Ozymandias, and they flung themselves at the fighting gladiators.
The fight was bloody and confused. Flaminius swung his sword about, hacking and thrusting at unseen assailants. He must have wounded or killed several, but then he ran into a tree at full tilt and spent the rest of the fight sitting against it, rubbing at his already bruised head.
Sunrise found an island almost at peace. In the grey light a few gladiators still fought, but most of Arctos’ rebels lay dead. They were brave, Flaminius gave them that; they fought to the death. None begged for surrender.
Then the last one fell. Flaminius staggered to Ozymandias’ side. The Egyptian’s face was ashen. All around lay dead gladiators and Bucolics.
Kalasiris joined them. ‘Half my people dead,’ he said darkly. ‘And for what? For your emperor? What does he mean to us, except taxes?’
Ozymandias embraced him. ‘I’m so sorry, my old friend,’ he wept. ‘But Arctos had to be stopped.’
Kalasiris’ face softened. ‘We love to fight, my people,’ he said. ‘It was a good fight. I swore a vow that I would always fight for you, my brother in arms. You led us to rich pickings in the tombs of the desert—back in the old days, before the Romans caught you and made you one of their own. I’ll fight for you even if you are a Roman now.’
In the Bucolics’ village Flaminius learnt that after their last meeting Ozymandias had joined with the tribe he befriended when he was a tomb robber and they had been searching the Delta for the rebel encampment. Hearing word of Flaminius at large in the Delta, Ozymandias sent a patrol to bring him in. Together they conceived a plan to fool the rebel leader, and waited for the opportune moment to strike.
‘Where is this Arctos?’ Kalasiris added. ‘I would like to see the man who was worth the lives of so many of my people. Who is he, anyway?’
‘He’s under guard in his own hut,’ said Flaminius, speaking for the first time. ‘I haven’t seen his face yet, but from speaking to him I think I have quite a good idea who he is.’
‘Who is he?’ asked Ozymandias.
‘Well,’ Flaminius prevaricated, ‘I’ve narrowed down the suspects to about six hundred men.’
‘Six hundred?’ Kalasiris gaped.
‘He’s a member of the Senate,’ Flaminius told them. ‘Which one remains to be seen. Though I had a feeling I’d heard his voice before…Well, whoever he is, he’s the head of this rebellion. Without him, the rebel forces will be like an asp crushed underfoot.’
‘Let’s find out,’ said Ozymandias.
As he entered the corpse littered clearing, the Egyptian stopped dead in his tracks. ‘What is it?’ asked Flaminius. Then he saw.
Kalasiris followed their gaze, and swore, ‘By Set!’
The men Ozymandias had left on guard lay dead. Flaminius went to inspect the hut. It was empty, except for two reed mats, and the coffer was gone. Arctos himself was also gone.
‘He’s escaped!’ Flaminius cursed. ‘But he was an old man! How could he have done this?’
‘He had help.’
Flaminius whirled round at the voice.
Camilla stood between two tents, clutching painfully at her belly. Blood was seeping through her fingers.
‘You!’ Flaminius spat. ‘You did this?’
‘It was Brutus,’ she said, ‘Brutus and Arctos’ two guards. And I helped them.’ She sobbed; with grief or pain, Flaminius didn’t know.
‘Kill her!’ said Kalasiris.
‘There’s been enough killing today,’ said Ozymandias. ‘Why did you not go with them, girl?’ he added. ‘Where are they now?’
She pointed to the west. ‘They went that way just as the sun rose,’ she said. ‘I wanted to join them, but Brutus wouldn’t let me. He stabbed me, left me to die.’ Betrayal filled her voice. ‘He could no longer trust me, he said.’
‘And you come to us expecting better treatment?’ Flaminius said harshly.
Ozymandias encouraged the gladiatrix to sit down, back against the wall of the hut, and he inspected the wound. He looked up, and his face was grim.
‘I’m dying, I know it,’ said Camilla. ‘I thought Brutus would have me back. But he knew my heart was no longer his.’ Sightlessly, she reached out as if to touch Flaminius. ‘Have them burn me,’ she said, ‘Don’t let me be embal
med.’
A bitter taste in his mouth, Flaminius knelt beside her. He tried to speak but the words evaded him.
‘Is that you, Tiro?’ she asked weakly.
‘My name is Flaminius,’ he told her. ‘I’m an imperial agent. But I’m the man you called Tiro when we fought together in the arena.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Brutus told me. But then he….’
‘Sssh now,’ Flaminius said.
‘Listen to me!’ she said urgently, her voice only a little above a whisper. ‘Brutus didn’t say where they were going. But as I lay there in the sand, I heard Arctos speaking. I couldn’t make out all the words, but I did hear him say something about the emperor’s death…the light of the world… and a meeting.’
‘A meeting?’ said Flaminius.
She nodded. ‘A meeting… with a man in the Library…’
Her head fell forward on her breast. Flaminius looked up at Ozymandias. In confusion Kalasiris turned from one to the other.
‘We’d better get back to Alexandria,’ Flaminius said. ‘Right away!’
The story continues in THE GAMES OF HADRIAN: THE ARCHIMEDES STRATAGEM (available in March 2018).
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gavin Chappell has been involved in writing and editing for over a decade. He has written numerous short stories, translations, poetry, novels, and non-fiction.
Also a qualified teacher of further education, Gavin taught English and Creative Writing for many years. He has been published by various publishers including Penguin, and is a member of the Society of Authors.
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[1] Roman midwinter festival.
[2] Roman festival of the dead.
[3] Gladiators surviving until retirement were awarded a wooden sword.
The Gladiator Gambit Page 23