Most of the gladiators were still celebrating their games, using the captured Romans for their amusement. Gaius had seen what these men were already capable of, and ever since he had found the estate that had belonging to Decima Felix Titus, he had prayed to the gods to give him the chance to track these men down and expense justice. Even the Gauls, Spanish or the Carthaginians did not treat Roman prisoners as these men were now. They would at least have the decency to kill them outright, or at the very least, torture these men for a purpose, to learn more about their enemies. No, these gladiators took special care to showcase their hatred for Rome and its people. He doubted that even the gods of the underworld could be so cruel.
As the screaming within the camp continued, Gaius was about to get his first chance to spill the blood of the gladiator bastards, as he inched quietly towards two sentries, which spent more time talking to each other than keeping their eyes out towards the surrounding darkness.
There was only the moon light overhead and two torches behind the sentries to illuminate the area. Gaius was, however, moving within the shadows of the fence, which concealed him entirely.
Maurus, who had joined Gaius’ group, came from the opposite direction. He couldn’t see him, but knew if they timed it right that they would be able to attack the sentries from their blind sides. Then, Gaius caught the glint of white in Maurus’ eyes as he saw that he was in position. He had a few extra feet to cover before he could attack his target, so he would have to lead, putting himself in danger for just a fraction of a second before Maurus could drop the second sentry.
Don’t fuck this up, Gaius thought to himself as he moved forward, down low in a crouch as he held his dagger out before him and inched his way to his target.
He waited as the furthest sentry took a swig from the jug, which blinded him for a moment before he leaped up and attacked the closer of the two.
Gaius didn’t make a sound, save for the sudden ruffling of the grass under his feet as he charged forward.
The first sentry barely had time to react before the sharp point of Gaius’ dagger tore through the back of the man’s neck, ripping out through his throat.
The man tried to scream, but no words left his mouth as bubbles of blood and gargling mutters of death could be uttered.
The sentry with the jug quickly realized what happened as he dropped the vase, which shattered on the ground, then attempted to reach for his sword. However, his head was suddenly jerked backward as a second dagger, Maurus’ was thrust repeatedly into his lower back.
Both sentries dropped to the ground nearly at the same time before the two Romans hurriedly grabbed the dead bodies before any of the nearby gladiators saw what they had done, and hid them between the fence and shadows, before both rapidly darted into the camp.
Gaius and Maurus, plus Cato ducked behind a series of small tents that were set near the outer perimeter. They waited a moment to see if there was any sudden call for alarm, but after a full minute, they heard no change, just the screaming of Romans and the joyful laughter of the gladiators. They then quietly moved through the rest of the camp.
As Gaius reached one bend, he stopped and put his back up against the side of the goat skin tent. Maurus quickly darted over to the opposite side. Between them were two drunken gladiators who stood no more than thirty feet from either of them. They were talking to one another, as one of the men was peeing on the ground, seemly making a joke about his ability to write his name with his piss, which the other gladiator thought was hilarious.
When the man was done, they turned and continued towards Gaius and Maurus’ direction, passing a small wine skin between each other.
Gaius had his sword drawn and attacked the man who was drinking. The sudden shock of iron ripping through his guts caused the man to spit out a mouthful of wine, which was quickly followed by blood.
The second man hadn’t any time to react either as Maurus plunged his sword right through the man’s chest.
They let the two bodies’ fall where they lay as their blood mixed into the already wet mud, before Gaius and his party quickly continued forward.
A short time later it was Cato that got the next kill, as the three came across a man who stood over a large water barrel, and as the man dip, his head into the water Cato stepped behind him and thrust his sword down into the back of the man’s skull. The gladiator’s body hemorrhaged as his death grip held on both sides of the barrel. It was only when Cato removed his sword did the man finally fall down to his knees; his dead weight knocking over the drum in the process.
With that last gladiator dead, Gaius had a clear run to the pit that several dozen Roman prisoners were being held in. They were attached to one another by a series of ropes. Most of them seemed in good health as they were apparently waiting for their turn to be tortured, but hadn’t been harmed beyond that.
One of them noticed Gaius as he hid down low behind a stack of looted crates, taken from nearby towns. The soldier, from what Gaius could tell looked to be an officer, perhaps a centurion, who looked for a long few seconds before he realized that the mud covered man was one of his countrymen.
Gaius held up his finger to his lips and singled for the man to remain quiet, as he wasn’t the only Roman to have noticed him by now.
The centurion nodded and with only a glance of his eyes indicated that there was a guard just out of Gaius’ sight.
Gaius inched forward just enough to poke his head around the stack of crates and saw that one of the gladiators stood guard in front of the pit. He was awake, but seemly just barely, as he had to use the long spear, he held to keep himself propped up.
Another guard sat by the far corner asleep; a spilt clay jug lying next to his feet.
Gaius indicated for Maurus to take care of the sleeping man, while he positioned to take out the standing sentry.
Cato covered their rear.
Gaius felt his heart racing as he neared the standing man. He heard only a faint gushing sound behind him as Maurus ran his knife across the sleeping man’s throat. He didn’t wake, but sat where he had been, seemly still asleep, despite globs of thick blood running down his chest.
The sentry before Gaius yawned, which Gaius used for his advantage. However, as he rose to attack, the gladiator heard him and instantly reacted.
Years in the arena had given the man an uncanny ability to react quickly, as he shifted his stance just enough that the tip of Gaius’ sword missed his neck by a fraction of an inch.
Gaius knew he had ruined his opportunity. The guard would yell and engage him, and even if he managed to kill him, it wouldn’t take much effort for more of the gladiators to come running. Gratefully, on any given day, save for this night, the gladiator might have been an equal match. Unfortunately, for him, the man was so drunk that he lost his balance, as he had dodged Gaius’ first and failed attack that the gladiator tripped over his own feet, falling face down into the mud, which thankfully prevented him from sounding the alarm.
Gaius didn’t give the gladiator the chance to rise to his feet. He slammed his left foot down onto the man’s back, pinning him to the ground, and then shoved his sword through the back of his head. As he turned, Maurus and Cato were already cutting the Romans free.
Gaius hurried over to the centurion who had seen him first and cut the man loose.
“We didn’t know anyone else had survived the battle. Who are you?” the man asked as Gaius helped the officer to his feet.
“Gaius, prefect of the Sixth Legion, and we weren’t at Cannae. We were reassigned the night before,” Gaius answered as he helped free the remaining soldiers.
“Well, I guess that explains that then. I hope there are more of you on the way.”
Gaius smiled as he handed over one of the dead gladiator’s weapons to the centurion.
“Oh, quite a bit more. Do you think you, and your men are up for a fight?” Gaius asked.
“We are, sir.”
Each of the Romans who were with him grinned, and while all
were weak and tired, they were indeed ready for some payback.
“Good. I have more men freeing other prisoners and eliminating the sentry posts. A cohort of horsemen will be coming through this camp in about fifteen minutes. When they do, I need you and your men to attack with anything you can find; your teeth and nails if you have too. Kill as many of these bastards as you can — no mercy for any of them. You hear me, soldier?”
“Oh, we hear you, sir,” the centurion smiled.
Gaius was about to turn and head off, but the centurion grabbed his arm and stopped him.
“Wait, sir. You have to free the consul. The slaves are keeping him alive for Hannibal, but I’m sure they’ll kill him the second your men show up.”
“The consul? Which one?” Gaius pondered. For a moment, he silently prayed it might be Varro. Perhaps then, he might be able to get some answers to what happened to Antony, or if he might still be alive, maybe in this very camp.
“Consul Paullus. He was gravely injured in the battle. We managed to get him out of Cannae and were attempting to flee back to Rome when these gladiators ambushed the column.”
Gaius sighed silently to himself, disappointed that it wasn’t Antony’s father, but Paullus instead.
“Where is he?”
“Towards that damn arena they set up…killing my men. I don’t know which of the tents he is being held in, or what his condition is.”
“Near the bloody arena, we’ll never make it there undetected,” Maurus pointed out.
Gaius looked around and noticed that the man he had just killed wasn’t all that different, in appearance than himself. Most of the gladiators, in fact, those they had already killed were dirty, bare chest or wearing looted Roman armor, and carrying weapons and gear from the legions. Hell, many of the gladiators were Italians.
Gaius walked to the man, he killed moments earlier and rolled his lifeless body over. He wore a legionnaire’s helmet and fur cape and simple trousers. Both Maurus and Cato saw what Gaius was planning as he stripped the dead gladiator of his things and put them on. They too followed his lead and took clothing and items from the other dead man before they were ready.
“Remember, when you hear our signal, don’t let any of these bastards out of here alive,” Gaius turned and said to the centurion and his men.
“And the signal will be?”
Gaius raised his finger up and held it.
“When the screams you hear now, end, and are replaced by the slaves, that will be your cue.”
Once Maurus and Cato were ready, Gaius turned to each of them.
“Spread out, and try not to act too professional,” Gaius asked with a sly grin. “And if anything goes wrong…well, let’s just make sure nothing goes wrong, okay?”
Both Maurus and Cato acknowledged that they understood before the pair split and stepped out from the shadows and walked freely among the rebels.
Maurus walked to the far right, while Cato took the left position. Gaius walked down the center, all three moving as if they weren’t in the same group, but keeping a safe distance from each other that they could react quickly if something should go wrong.
Gaius grabbed an almost empty clay wine jug that a sleeping gladiator had next to him. He began to walk as if he had been drinking all night, practically tripping over his feet with every other step, to further sell the as he kept his eyes low between taking drinks of his wine as he staggered over towards five men. After a moment, they turned their attention away from him and continued on with their conversation, one of them actually nodding as Gaius passed them.
Gaius breathed again as he looked back. Both Maurus and Cato got by easy enough without even a second glance. He couldn’t help but grin as he saw that Maurus flirted with two women whom he passed, perhaps getting too into his role.
Before long, Gaius was out in the middle of the camp, walking among and through the gladiators’ ranks. For a moment, as two of them came his direction; a nude Roman soldier between each of their arms as they dragged him, kicking and screaming to be tortured, Gaius nearly went for his sword and attacked those men. He knew, however, that he had to ignore it and allow them to continue with their murderous entertainment a little longer. He hoped that the kid could last a few more minutes before help eventually came.
All around him now was the carnage he had only seen from afar. The smell of overcooked human flesh nearly made him empty his stomach as he had to struggle not to look over at the burning rows of his countrymen, but it was hard not to.
Gaius looked as a group of gladiators poured oil over one Roman soldier, the man actually spent the whole process cursing and swearing at his captures, calling them every name he could think of. The Roman seemed angrier than afraid, and even as they tossed a burning torch over to his feet, flames engulfing his body, the man was still yelling vulgar words of resentment between his agonizing screams, as his body was roasted.
The biggest mass of people was centered on the makeshift arena. A lot of plundered money was passing hands as the gladiators spent hours placing bets on the Romans they threw down into it. From what he could tell, a fight had just ended, with only one man still alive — a lone Roman, bloodied and covered head to toe in mud was pulled out and tossed back into the holding pin. The man, like many of the other Romans had a blank stare on his face; others shook horribly, even causing self-inflicted wounds to their bodies as they clawed into their wrists, trying to cut their arteries.
Finally, Gaius saw where Paullus might be as a series of small tents, not too different than those he had seen all over the camp, were before him. Even so, at first glance he couldn’t tell which might hold the Roman consul.
Gaius glanced over his shoulder. It was difficult to see either Maurus or Cato among the larger collection of gladiators, but he found them as they kept pace with him. He nodded to them and indicated to the tents. They each replied back with the same gesture as they started their way over to him.
There were no discernible features to any of the tents as each were made of the same leathery material, nor were they set up in any particular pattern. Some tents faced Gaius, as he scanned them with his eyes, while other's back-ends were to him.
He moved closer, trying his hardest to be quick, but not seem too obvious. And then as he walked around one seemly uninteresting structure, he heard what sounded like a woman, one that was yelling in Latin.
Through the thick skin, he listened as best he could.
“Haven’t you done enough to us? He is dying! Leave us alone!” Her words were broken as Gaius only understood about half of what the woman was saying, as the outside noises were too loud. And then he heard what sounded like a hand slapping across flesh, followed by a louder, more assertive voice.
“Shut up, woman, or I shall have my men do away with you!”
Gaius caught sight of Maurus and Cato and nodded to them.
They hurried over to his position as he walked around the tent and saw a man burst out.
Two guards stood outside, staying at their post as the tall gladiator who had exited rushed out of sight a moment later.
Gaius turned back and indicated with just his fingers to Maurus and Cato that there were two targets, and that he would deal with them.
Gaius raised his wine jug and poured its contents over his face and chest. Then, he took a deep breath and moved, pretended as best as he could that he was seriously drunk. He staggered out in front of the two gladiators who stared at him as he wobbled, muttering to himself as he was seemly having a conversation with an invisible partner. The two gladiators laughed as they glanced over at each other, still unaware as to whom Gaius really was.
He turned and faced the two guards and smiled. As he staggered over to them, Gaius threw out his arms as if he was going to give each man a big hug.
“Brothers! War, isn’t it beautiful?! Here’s to our great victory over Rome!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs as he moved towards the two guards, about ready to take another long swig from the wine vase.
Before Gaius reached the two men, however, he tripped over his feet, stumbling forward, falling between the guards and into the tent where he landed on his stomach and purposely broke his clay jug.
Inside, a woman screamed as Gaius’ lump body collapsed to the floor. The two gladiators, each of them smiling entered behind him.
“I think you have had too much to drink, brother,” one of the gladiators said as he reached down to help Gaius up off of the ground.
“I’m not your brother, slave,” Gaius, his drunken expression now totally gone as he turned on his back and shoved the broken handle of the jug into the gladiator’s throat.
The man staggered back, falling against the side of the tent, his hands gripping his throat as he tried in vain to stop the gushing blood that came out of his neck.
“You fucking bastard!" the second gladiator yelled, but before he could draw his sword, Maurus appeared behind him, thrusting his own blade into the man’s lower back, before letting him fall dead.
“Move the bodies in here, quickly — and silence that one,” Gaius said as he stood back to his feet.
Maurus grabbed the man he killed and dragged him further into the tent, stashing his body in the corner while Cato walked over to the still alive man in the far corner and quickly pushed his dagger into the man’s chest, killing him instantly.
“Good, get outside and stand guard,” Gaius then ordered before he turned and faced the woman, who sat, her back pressed up against the side of the wall.
“Who are you?” she cried out, still panicking.
Gaius raised his finger to his lips and indicated for the woman, who looked to be in her early twenties, to be silent. He could see that she was a slave, as her brand was easily seen on her right shoulder. She was perhaps the body slave to Paullus, loyal to him to a fault, which would explain why she had remained by the consul’s side all this time.
Swords of Rome Page 29