The Gladiator c-9

by Simon Scarrow

  Chilo bowed his head. 'Yes, General. As you command.'

  That night fires flared into the starry sky to warm the slaves as they celebrated their victory. At the heart of the patchwork of mean shelters and tents that formed their camp was a large open space in front of the tent of Ajax and his closest companions. Scores of fire pits had been dug, and as darkness fell, mutton carcasses on spits roasted over heaps of glowing embers, filling the air with the rich aroma of cooking meat. For slaves, used to an unvaried diet of gruel and whatever small animals they might snare, this was the height of luxury. The kind of feast that their former masters enjoyed, and which they had only ever dreamed of. Wine, bread and fruit taken from the kitchens of the estates that had been sacked by the slaves were freely distributed on the orders of Ajax.

  As his followers feasted, Ajax made his way from fire to fire, congratulating those who had fought in the ambush, and listening patiently as they boasted of their part in the battle. It did his heart good to see how the ragged, cowed fugitives who had joined his struggle against Rome were now sofull of fight. Where he led in battle, they would follow, unquestioning. He had been used to the adulation of the mob that came to spectate at the games in Rome, but this was altogether different. These slaves, these people, did not follow him because he won them bets, nor because he excited their bloodlust. They followed him because they shared a common burden. And now, he mused, they shared a common destiny.

  He had nursed their ambition with small raids on estates and villages, and then attacks on Roman patrols. Only when he had been sure that they were ready did he plan the previous night's ambush.

  He had watched the Roman column ever since it had set out from Gortyna. Skirmish by skirmish he had lured the commander towards the hills, and then, when the trap was set, he had sent in the boy. The child had not hesitated for an instant when Ajax had asked Pollio to carry out the task that would almost certainly lead to his death. The boy's father had been killed by an overseer, and his mother sold to a brothel. All he lived for was revenge. He had gone to his death willingly and Ajax had been glad for him to go, knowing he would have done precisely the same if their positions had been reversed. He had long grown used to the conviction that there was nothing he would not do if it aided his desire to defy and destroy Rome and all it stood for. In time, his followers would come to share his vision as fully as he did, as the boy had, and Rome would tremble as it beheld a tide of those it had treated as little more than things rise up to overwhelm the empire.

  Ajax allowed himself a moment to indulge in the dream of Rome being crushed beneath his heel. Then he reined in his imagination and focused on the immediate future. A small battle had been won.

  Now was the time to exploit the victory, before the Romans could recover from the shock of the defeat.

  As the fires died down, the slaves finished the last scraps of their feast and drank the last of the wine. Some began to sing, fragments of songs remembered from the time before they or their forebears had been slaves. Songs fromevery corner of the empire, and the melodies and rhythms, often strange to his ear, moved Ajax deeply.

  Truly there was no corner of the earth that had not felt the scourge of Rome. Once more his heart was filled with cold, cold rage and a thirst for revenge.

  Returning to the centre of the camp, he climbed on to a wagon piled high with captured equipment and stood atop the driver's bench, sword in one hand, the standard of the Batavian cohort in the other. He clattered the blade against the silver disc bearing an image of the emperor. The surrounding crowd turned towards the sound and began to fall silent, watching their leader expectantly. Ajax lowered his sword and stared out over the sea of faces, dimly lit by the wavering glow of the dying fires. Filling his lungs, he began.

  'You have feasted on the best meat, the best wine and the best delicacies that we have taken from those who were our masters. Tell me, what is it that has the best taste tonight?'

  'Roast mutton!' a voice cried, and scores of others called out their agreement.

  'Garum!' cried another.

  'Figs!'

  'My girl's cunt!' some one shouted, and there was a roar of laughter.

  Ajax clattered his sword against the standard again to silence them.

  'You are all wrong! I'll tell you what tastes best and sweetest to every one of us tonight… Liberty! Liberty!'

  The crowd cheered, thrusting their fists into the air as they echoed the cry. 'Liberty!'

  When the cheering had died down, Ajax continued.' My friends, we have won the first of many fights. But not without cost. We fought with clubs and farming tools against men in armour with swords and spears. Now their weapons are ours, and when we next fight the Romans it will be on far more even terms. No! The next fight will be on our terms. They have grown fat and complacent on the back of our labour and suffering. They cannot match the determination of those who fight for their freedom. That is why they will lose. That is why we shall triumph!'

  More cheering greeted his words. Ajax indulged them a moment before he raised his sword and called for quiet.

  'My friends, we have tasted liberty, and now victory, but our work is only just beginning. I have a plan. We will demand that our freedom be recognised. We will demand that the Romans give us safe passage out of their empire. Now, it is just possible that they may be inclined to refuse such a reasonable request…'

  The crowd laughed and jeered for a moment before Ajax continued.

  'So, my friends, we must teach them a lesson, to prove how serious our demands are. Tomorrow I will lead an army off this hill and out on to the plain. Within days I will show the Romans that their defeat last night was no accident. I will give them another defeat that will shatter their arrogance and humble them. In a few days they will learn just how terrible our revenge can be… Then they will be forced to me et our demands. If they don't, then I give you my word that we shall slaughter every last Roman on the island.' He thrust his sword into the heavens. 'Death to Rome! Death to Rome!'

  The crowd took up the chant, and it thundered out into the night, strident and challenging, daring Rome to defy them.

  Ajax climbed down from the wagon and strolled over to Chilo.

  'Time to complete the night's entertainment, I think. Have the men bring out my little pet.'

  'My pleasure.' Chilo grinned. He turned away, gesturing to a handful of his men, who followed him inside Ajax's tent. They emerged a moment later carrying an iron cage. As the crowd saw the cage they edged forward, forming a loose circle around it. As Chilo and his men set it down in the glow of the cooking fires, Ajax stepped up to the cage and looked through the bars. Inside he could make out a human form, visible in the slats of orange light passing through the bars. The figure was naked and bruised and sat with her arms hugged round her knees as strands of matted hair hung down over her fleshy body.

  'My lady Antonia, thank you for joining us,' Ajax mocked. 'I am sorry that you have missed the feast, but you have not missed all the entertainment. I have saved the best until last, in your honour. I know your pleasures well enough. All those months I had to service you like some rutting bull. You have no idea how much the thought of you and your soft, weak, fat body has revolted me. You have wasted my seed, and soiled me. Now it is your turn to be soiled.' He clicked his fingers at Chilo. 'Get her out!'

  Chilo cut the ties that fastened the door to the cage and reached in to drag the former governor's wife out. She put up a pathetic struggle and then collapsed on the ground at the feet of Ajax as some of the crowd wolf-whistled.

  'I'll be kind.' Ajax smiled coldly. 'I'll let you choose. On your back, or on all fours.'

  She stared up at him with terrified eyes, her lips quivering. 'I beg you, spare me. Please.'

  'No.'

  'Then why did you save me? When the earthquake struck, you came for me in the garden. Why?'

  'For this moment, my lady. Yes, in a way I saved you. I saved you so I could have my revenge for the indignity of being your toy. I save
d you for these men.' Ajax indicated Chilo and his companions, who were grinning cruelly. 'Take her, use her in any way you want, and when you're done, throw her body down into the ravine with the others.'

  Ajax turned away and strode back towards his tent. Behind him the crowd looked on as Chilo had two of his men hold the Roman woman face down on the bare ground. A moment later the first of her shrill screams of terror and agony filled the night.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Macro arrived at Sempronius's office carrying with him the faint odour of the work he had been supervising in the city's sewer.

  He nodded a greeting to Cato and saluted the senator, before casting a curious eye over Centurion Micon.

  'Now that we're all here, take a seat.' Sempronius folded his hands together.' Then Centurion Micon can make his report. I take it you know nothing of what has happened yet, Macro?'

  Macro glanced at Cato and shook his head. 'I'm not aware of anything. Apart from some shouting from the forum as I headed up here.'

  'Shouting?'

  'Yes. Didn't sound like they were celebrating.'

  'Our friend Centurion Micon was unwise enough to break his news in the forum before he came to find me. It'll be all over Gortyna before nightfall.'

  'News?' Macro frowned. 'What in Hades is going on, sir?'

  'There's been a defeat. Marcellus and his column have been wiped out by the rebel slaves. Centurion Micon managed to escape. But you'd better hear it from Micon.'

  'I should think so.' Macro eyed Micon coldly.' The story of how a band of slaves carved up the best part of a thousand men has got to be worth hearing.'

  Sempronius leaned forward. 'Just listen.'

  Macro raised his hands and leaned back as he nodded at Micon.

  'Please tell us.'

  Centurion Micon was unsettled by the critical tone of his superior and took a brief moment to compose himself before he cleared his throat and began.

  'It happened yesterday, at dusk, thirty miles to the east of Gortyna.

  As you know from Prefect Marcellus's reports, we were tracking down bands of slaves and driving them before us. All the time they were pulling back, away from Gortyna and into the hills. We were sure we had them on the run. We'd cleared them out of the plain, and once they were forced up towards the mountains, the plan was to trap them and finish them off once and for all. Marcellus was confident that the campaign would be over in less than a month.

  Then, three days ago, one of our patrols captured a slave. A young lad, no more than twelve or thirteen. He was brought in and questioned, and told us that the leader of the slaves was a great gladiator who had pledged to lead the slaves to freedom or die. Our men scoffed at this, but then the boy claimed to know the gladiator, said that he was one of the gladiator's servants. That was when he realised he'd said too much and clammed up. But it was too late. The decurion in command of the patrol took the boy to Marcellus. At first he refused to talk, then the prefect called in the interrogators.' Micon paused and looked round at the other officers. 'You know how good they are at loosening tongues. Well, it took them the best part of an hour before they broke the boy. They'd beaten him badly and used heated irons, then they brought out the gouges. First sight of those did the trick. Even so, never seen guts like that in a youngster,' Centurion Micon mused.' Or a slave.'

  'Please continue,' Sempronius cut in.

  'Yes, sir. Anyway, the lad told us that he knew where the rebels were camped, and he would take us there if Marcellus promised that he would be sent back to his master without any further harm.

  Naturally, the prefect gave his word. Marcellus sent for his officers.

  He gave us wine and said he'd lead us back in triumph, herding thousands of captive slaves, while their leader was dragged behind in chains.

  'The next morning he gave orders for all patrols to be called in and the men prepared for an attack on the slave camp the following night. Centurion Albinus suggested that a report be sent back to Gortyna, advising them of the attack, but Marcellus said that it would be better if we simply returned with our captives once the attack was over. Nothing is as eloquent as success — those were his words. So we set off into the hills, guided by the boy, who was tethered to Marcellus's horse. At first the going was easy, along a broad path, and even as dusk settled and it be came dark there was enough moonlight to see our way as the track narrowed and be came steeper. Then, after perhaps two or three hours, we saw a faint glow above a hill a mile off. That was the camp, the boy assured us. We continued forward more carefully and Marcellus sent scouts on ahead. All was well for a while, until we were within half a mile of the camp. Then one of the scouts came back and reported that the track passed through a narrow ravine before rising steeply up towards the top of the hill.

  Marcellus was suspicious and ordered the column to halt while he questioned the boy again. The lad was adamant that it was the only way up to the camp without taking a wide detour that would mean we wouldn't reach it before daybreak. Marcellus ordered us forward again.

  'The ravine was barely twenty feet across, with steep sides, too steep to climb, and we did our best to advance quietly as the sounds echoed off the rock faces on either side. Just as the head of the column began to emerge into the open, there was a sudden flaring up of light along the crests on either side. They had faggots drenched in oil, which they lit up and threw down on to us.' Micon paused again as he recalled the horror of the previous night. 'There was fire everywhere, and the faggots exploded into blazing fragments all around us. The horses panicked and ran into each other and trampled the infantry. By the light of the flames the enemy — the slaves, I mean — started to roll boulders down on to us. Boulders, and also logs into which they had driven iron spikes and hooks. It was carnage, sir.

  Marcellus was one of the first to be struck down, but not before he'd drawn his sword and cut the boy's throat. That was the really terrible thing. The lad just stood there and laughed as it happened. He spat into Marcellus's face before he died. An instant later, the prefect was crushed by one of the logs. Killed outright. There was no one in command, and some men charged forward to get out of the trap.

  Others turned back, and some just huddled under whatever shelter they could find.'

  'And what did you do?' asked Macro.

  'I turned back,' Centurion Micon confessed. 'What else could I do? I called what was left of my men to me and we rode back through the column the way we had come. Only the slaves had closed that off, throwing abatis across the track. Some of our men tried to clear them away, but they had slingers on either flank and our men went down like flies. But they opened a gap, and I charged my men through it.' Micon glanced at the other officers furtively. 'We went after the slingers, to give the others a chance to clear the rest of the barricade away and make good their escape. But that's when the spearmen came up out of the ground. They'd been lying down behind the slingers, and as soon as we charged up, the slingers melted away and we rode straight on to their pikes. I turned away, after the last of my men was cut down, and rode back down the track towards the plain, breaking through a handful of slaves covering the track. I didn't stop until I had put the best part of a mile between us. Then when I did rein in, I looked back and saw the flames glowing in the ravine. I can still hear the cries and screams of our men echoing off the rocks. The slave spearmen formed up at the edge of the ravine, and slaughtered every one of our men caught in their trap.'

  Centurion Micon lowered his head.' The column didn't stand a chance, sir. I didn't know what to do… Charge back into the fight, or do my duty and report back to you.'

  'So you decided to save your skin,' Macro snorted. 'Instead of going to the aid of your comrades. Typical bloody auxiliary.'

  Cato leaned forward. 'There was nothing Centurion Micon could do.'

  'He could have died like a soldier, and not run like a bloody whipped cur and abandoned his mates.'

  'Then who would have been left to make his report to us?'

  Macro sucke
d a breath in through his teeth. In the legions, it was a dyed-in-the-wool tradition that centurions never gave an inch in battle. Clearly a different standard applied in the auxiliary cohorts.

  'Well, surely he could have found some one to ride back and break the news.'

  Sempronius rapped his hand on the desk.' Enough! This is not getting us anywhere. The question is what do we do now? This defeat has changed everything at a stroke. Marcellus had the best of our men, and now he's thrown them away. All we have left are a few small detachments on the north of the island, the Tenth Macedonian, and the cohort at Matala. What's that? Six hundred men at most.'

  Sempronius shook his head.' How the hell could these wretched slaves have done this to us? How could they have defeated trained soldiers? I underestimated the slaves, and this gladiator who is leading them.'

  Cato kept his mouth shut and fought back a surge of anger and indignation. It was the senator's responsibility for not taking the slave threat seriously enough. Cato, and Macro to a lesser extent, had both been aware of the dangers, but their concerns had been dismissed. It was tempting to exact some recognition of who should bear the blame, but now was not the time. Any bitter divisions amongst those left in charge of the province would only make their perilous situation worse.

  'So,' Sempronius continued, looking at Macro and Cato, 'you're the ones with military experience. What should we do?'

  'What can we do?' Macro answered coldly. 'It seems we're outnumbered, outwitted and we've been given a good kicking. Best thing to do is send for help and hold out here until it arrives.'

  Sempronius did not appear to like what he had heard and turned to Cato. 'And what do you think?'

  'Macro's right, sir. With so few men, we have no choice. It would be madness to send what's left against the slaves. Gortyna must be defended.'

  'Defended?' Sempronius raised his eyebrows.' How? There must be twenty or thirty breaches in the walls where the earthquake shook them down.'