The Gladiator c-9

by Simon Scarrow

  Suddenly the distant sail collapsed; Cato saw that the mast had snapped, and sail, spar, and rigging tumbled over the side. As the tangled wreckage hit the water, it acted as a brake, savagely dragging the ship over to one side as it turned its beam towards the great waves rolling in from the heart of the sea. For an instant Cato could make out the men crouching on the deck. Then a huge grey wall crashed over the ship, engulfing it. The keel broke the surface, like the spine of a whale, and settled in the water; then the next wave washed over it and the ship was gone. Cato stared at the spot, willing there to be some sign of survivors, but there was nothing, and the curiosity of before turned to horror at the sudden extinction of the ship and its entire crew.

  'Poor bastards,' he muttered, then turned away and walked slowly towards the shelter of the temple, as the wind-fanned flames in the cupola at the top of the lighthouse flared brilliantly against the dark storm clouds scudding overhead. Once he was in the shelter of the tower, Cato took a last look towards the sea, his heart filled with pity for any ships out there in such a tempest.

  Two days later, early in the morning, the fleet was ready to sail.

  Petronius came down to the dock in the royal harbour to bid farewell to Cato and First Spear Centurion Decius Fulvius. The storm had passed the day after it had struck and several ships had foundered in the commercial harbour. Fortunately the fleet had lost only one trireme, which had dragged its anchors and been holed when it struck the breakwater.

  'Take good care of my men.' Petronius smiled faintly at Cato. 'I want 'em back in good condition once you have put down the slave rebellion. The gods know I'm taking a big risk in stripping so many men from the garrison of Egypt to help Sempronius out. Make sure he understands that.'

  'I will be sure to pass the message on to the senator, sir.'

  'Good, and tell my old friend that if he should ever need my help again in the future, then please hesitate to call on me.'

  Cato smiled at the quip, but Fulvius just frowned for a moment and then shrugged before he saluted his commander. 'I'll look after the lads, sir. Shouldn't think a mob of renegade slaves will give me much trouble. Even so, I'll not take any unnecessary risks.'

  'Good.'

  Cato followed Fulvius across the gangway and on to the deck of the flagship, an ageing quadreme named the Triton. As soon as they were aboard, the marines hauled the gangway in and the men at the oars fended the vessel away from the dock. As soon as a sufficient gap had opened up, the navarch commanding the fleet gave the order for the ship to get under way, and the oars were unshipped and the blades lowered into the sea. The officer in charge of the rowers set an easy pace and the Triton glided across the still waters of the royal harbour and headed out to sea. The rest of the squadron took up station astern, as the troopships set sail and followed behind the warships. It was a fine spectacle, Cato reflected as he saw that hundreds of the local people had come out on to the Heptastadion to watch the fleet depart. The formation headed out past the lighthouse, and the Tritons bows lifted as they emerged into the swell of the open sea. The sudden motion caused Cato to grasp the side rail, and the image of the stricken ship he had seen during the storm jumped unbidden into his mind. The navarch chuckled as he glanced at him.

  'Not much of a sailor, then?'

  'Not much,' Cato admitted. 'I've had more than my share of sea travel recently'

  'Well, not to worry. The storm has blown itself out nicely' The navarch scanned the horizon and sniffed the air. 'We're in for a fine spell, and will make Crete within three days at the most.'

  'You can smell the weather to come?' Cato asked in surprise.

  'No. But it helps calm my passengers if they think I can.' The navarch winked.

  Cato made his way to the stern and stared back at Alexandria. By noon the city and the coastline had disappeared over the horizon, but the lighthouse was still clearly visible, and in the gentle breeze the smoke from its signal fire rose at an angle into the heavens.

  In the fine weather the fleet made steady progress across the sea and sighted the coast of Crete on the evening of the third day. After carefully examining the coastline, the navarch was content that he knew where they had made landfall and gave the order to turn to the west and follow the coast towards Matala.

  'We should reach the port tomorrow,' he announced to Cato and Fulvius as they shared a meal in his tiny cabin that night. He nodded at Cato. 'You say the port was hit hard by that wave. How bad was the damage, exactly?'

  Cato finished chewing a hunk of bread and swallowed. 'There's not much still standing,' he recalled.' The warehouses were flattened and much of the quayside was swept away. There's plenty of wrecked shipping along the shore and in the bay, but the beaches a little further out are clear enough. We could land our forces there.'

  'Very well,' Fulvius agreed. 'As far as you're aware, we shouldn't be facing any opposition when we land.'

  'No. Not unless something's happened to Matala.'

  'Is that likely?'

  Cato shook his head. 'I doubt it. If the rebels have paid a visit, the garrison had orders to take the people up into the acropolis. It's a fine defensive position. Without siege weapons the rebels would have had little chance of taking the place. No, we shouldn't have any problems putting ashore at Matala.'

  'Glad to hear it,' said Fulvius. 'And once the column's ashore, we'll put paid to this gladiator of yours in double-quick time. You see if we don't!'

  The sun was high in the sky as the Triton led the fleet into the bay.

  The navarch was taking no risks and had two men in the bows watching the water ahead of the warship for any obstacles caused by the wave or the earthquake. The marines and the additional legionaries from the Twenty-Second packed the sides of the ship and stared in curiosity and shock at the ruined port. For the first time since they had set off from Alexandria, Cato noticed that Fulvius looked a little shaken.

  'Never seen anything like it,' the veteran muttered. 'It's like the port has been pulverised.' He turned to Cato. 'Seems you weren't exaggerating what you said about that wave.'

  'No. And that's only the beginning.' Cato pointed inland. 'What's left of the city is up there, and once you see that, you'll have some idea of what's happened to the who le island.'

  Fulvius shook his head slowly as he continued to survey the devastation.

  As the warship eased its way further into the bay, Cato called to the navarch and indicated the Horus, still beached some distance along the shore.' Head over there. The bottom's sandy and shelves gently'

  The navarch nodded and ordered the steersman to alter course, and the Triton swung gracefully round, oars dipping into the clear water in unison. Fulvius was still staring towards the ruins.

  'Odd,' he said quietly. 'There's no sign of life at all. You'd think some one would have spotted us and called attention to the garrison commander. Or the other townspeople at least.'

  Cato looked again at the port. 'You're right. I can't see a soul.'

  'Best proceed cautiously when we get ashore then,' Fulvius decided. 'Just in case.'

  They were interrupted by a bellowed command from the navarch as he ordered all the idle hands, marines and legionaries to move aft of the mast. As the men shuffled towards the stern, the ram slowly rose clear of the water, and after a few more strokes of the oars the navarch cupped his hands to his mouth. 'Ship the oars! Prepare to beach!'

  The blades rose clear of the water and were run in as the warship continued forward. The deck shuddered slightly as the keel touched the sandy bottom, and carried on a little way before the friction killed the last of the ship's moment um.

  'Marines forward! Lower the gangways!'

  While the marines heaved the narrow ramps down from the gaps in the wooden side rails at the bow, the other warships began to beach on either side. Looking back towards the entrance of the bay, Cato saw the cargo ships cautiously approaching under minimal sail.

  They had too great a draught to beach and would have to anchor a
short distance out and wait for the smaller vessels to ferry the men, horses and equipment ashore.

  Centurion Fulvius had put on his helmet and was fastening the straps. He nodded to Cato. 'Best get your kit on. I'll have my lads ready to recce the city the moment we get on dry land.'

  Cato struggled into a chainmail vest, strapped on his sword and put on his helmet before joining Fulvius and the legionaries assembling by the gangways. In addition to their usual complement, each of the warships was carrying two centuries of legionaries and the men were jostling to get ashore as quickly as possible after having spent the past few days crowded on to the open decks. The marines had already disembarked and run up the sand to form a skirmish line.

  When he was happy that his men were ready, Fulvius called out the order.' Right then, boys, get ashore. One man on each gangway at a time, unless you want to land in the drink.'

  Some of the men laughed or smiled at the warning as the first of them carefully made their way down the narrow gangways and on to the sand. Fulvius looked towards the port again. 'Still nothing. It's looking a bit worrying, I'd say'

  Cato did not reply, but inside he felt the familiar tightening of his guts as he let his mind contemplate the possible reasons for the stillness and silence of the port. He stood and waited his turn as the men disembarked, and then followed Fulvius down on to the beach.

  The optios were already forming the men up as they disembarked from the warships. Once the first cohort was ready, Fulvius gave the order to advance, and they began to march warily down the beach towards the port, following the same route Cato had taken when the Horus had limped into the bay after being swamped by the wave. The cohort had to break ranks to negotiate the rubble and debris when the men reached the edge of the port area. Despite the occasional shouted orders and the clatter of kit as nearly five hundred men picked their way forwards, no one came to investigate. The sense of foreboding was greater than ever, and Cato gripped the handle of his sword as he accompanied Fulvius up the shallow ravine towards the main town.

  The streets were still and silent and Cato looked up as the acropolis came into view, but the walls were empty; not a single man visible on watch, or guarding the gates, which were wide open. The only sign of any life was a small swirl of dark birds over the acropolis.

  'Where is everyone?' asked Fulvius. He turned to Cato.' Could they have left? Has Sempronius ordered them to head for Gortyna maybe?'

  'I don't know. I can't see why he would.'

  They continued through the streets, towards the acropolis, and began to ascend the ramp. A faint breeze wafted down the slope, carrying with it a sickly stench. Fulvius, Cato and the leading section of the cohort stopped abruptly. Fulvius went to draw his sword, and then stilled his hand and swallowed hard instead.

  'Keep moving,' he growled at his men, and they carried on up the ramp towards the open gateway. As they passed through the arch, the foul smell was overpowering. A handful of startled carrion birds squawked and flapped into the air as the first men into the acropolis drew up and stared at the ghastly scene before them. The entire space within the walls was covered with bodies, mottled and bloated with decay. The paving stones were dark with dried blood, and further away from Cato and the others, the carrion continued to worry at the corpses with their beaks and claws. No body had been spared.

  Not the old and infirm, not the women, nor the children. All had been hacked to death.

  Cato covered his mouth and nose as he looked about.

  'What the hell happened here?' Fulvius muttered.

  'The rebels must have attacked and found a way in,' Cato guessed.

  'That's why they're all in the acropolis, and not at the refugee camp outside the city.'

  'I thought you said they would be safe up here.'

  'They should have been. It doesn't make sense.'

  Both men were silent for a moment as they gazed at the scene of the massacre. Then Fulvius scratched his chin nervously. 'If the rebels could take Matala, then we have to assume that Gortyna is also in danger.'

  Cato felt an icy spasm in his neck. Gortyna… Julia and Macro… He felt sick with despair and uncertainty. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and turned to Fulvius.

  'We have to get the rest of the column ashore at once and make for Gortyna before it's too late.'

  'It may already be too late.'

  Cato was stung by the implication of the other man's words. 'In that case,' he responded with chilling intensity, 'we still march on Gortyna. We will not rest until every last one of the rebels has paid for this with their lives.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  'Is there nothing that can be done to save him?' asked Ajax as they emerged from the farmhouse. Kharim wiped the traces of blood and pus from his hands with a linen rag, and then shook his head.

  'I'm sorry, it's in the hands of the gods now. You might want to make a sacrifice to Asclepius and pray for his help. I have done all that I can for Chilo, but his wound has be come corrupted. I've seen it before, as have you. It will fester and poison his blood and he will die.

  I'm sorry.'

  'I see.' Ajax nodded with a weary air of resignation.

  It pained Kharim to see the gladiator brought low by this, amongst all the other burdens of command that rested on his powerful shoulders. It had been five days since the rebel army had arrived before the walls of Gortyna and Ajax had launched his surprise attack. It had cost the rebels dearly. Over two hundred of Chilo's band had been killed or wounded, and many of the survivors had been crippled by running on to the caltrops as they retreated into the night. The mood in the rebel camp had soured, and though Ajax was determined to make another attempt to take the city by force, he was aware that his followers had been shaken by the failure of the first night.

  It had been their first major setback since the outbreak of the rebellion, and Ajax was forced to realise that there were limits to what could be asked of men and women who had had no experience of the hardships of conflict. They had been intoxicated by freedom and fanatical in their defence of it. But fanaticism was not enough when what Ajax really needed was men trained in the art of siege warfare and disciplined enough to carry an assault through in spite of the dangers. Besides, fanaticism was a fickle thing, he had discovered. The initial fearlessness and ferocity of the early days of the revolt had begun to give way to a simple desire to live well and enjoy the luxuries they had looted from their former masters.

  Ajax clasped Kharim's shoulder. 'I thank you for doing what you could for Chilo.'

  'You don't have to thank me, General.' Kharim smiled sadly. 'Chilo is as a brother to me, as he is to you. His men love him. This has hit them hard. I wish I had the skills to save him.'

  'I thank you anyway.' Ajax stared at his companion for a moment.

  'I need a new man to take over from Chilo.'

  It was the first mention of such a thing, and Kharim realised that his leader now accepted that Chilo would not recover.

  'Who do you have in mind?' Kharim asked.

  'I am not sure yet. My first thought was you.'

  'Me?'

  'Why not? You fight as well as you practise your healing skills. And you are loyal to me, are you not?'

  'Do you have to ask?' Kharim responded with a pained expression.

  'No. I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to slight you. Sometimes I slip back into the blunt frame of mind of a common gladiator.'

  'There is nothing common about you,' Kharim replied, and gestured to the camp surrounding them. 'Ask anyone. Do you know, I have even heard some of the women praying to you? As if you were some kind of a god, or a king.'

  Ajax frowned. 'That is foolishness. We are free now, we are not beholden to anyone but ourselves.'

  Kharim looked at him. 'You believe that, and that is why they love you and will follow where you will lead.'

  The gladiator drew himself up and briefly surveyed the nearest cluster of tents and shelters where the former slaves sat at their ease.


  Some talked, some simply sat and looked at the world around them as if seeing it anew. A handful of children were playing around a cage to one side of the farmhouse, goading the prisoners with sticks. It was a peaceful scene of contentment, yet Ajax knew it could not last.

  He turned back to Kharim.

  'Pass the word. I want the leaders of all the war bands to meet in the garden at dusk. We must talk. There are choices that must be made. Commitments to be renewed. You understand?'

  'Yes, General. I will tell them.'

  Kharim turned and strode away, towards the area of the camp where his war band had set up their shelters. Ajax watched him a moment and then turned to go back inside the farmhouse. He passed through the colonnaded hall with the shallow pond at its centre.

  Once that had been fed by rainwater from the roof, but the earthquake had left a large crack in the bottom, and now it was dry and filled with cracked plaster, dust and a handful of smashed tiles that had fallen in from the roof. He made his way towards the best bedroom in the house, where Chilo lay on a soft bedroll. Despite having the windows open on both sides of the room, the air was warm, and as Ajax approached, a sickening tang assaulted his nostrils.

  He hid his distaste as he knelt down beside Chilo.

  Chilo's skin was waxy and glistened with perspiration. He lay with a fine robe covering his body as far as his chest, hiding his wound.

  Sensing the gladiator's presence, he opened his eyes, struggled to focus and forced a smile.

  'General, I wondered when you'd come to see me.' He spoke softly, a slight rasp to his words.

  'I was here just a moment ago.'

  'Were you?' Chilo frowned. 'I can't remember.'

  'It's the poison in your blood,' Ajax explained. 'It's playing tricks with your mind.'

  'Ah.' Chilo reached out his hand and took that of Ajax. His touch was hot and feverish, and Ajax forced himself not to recoil. Chilo smiled. 'Well you are here now, at the end.'

  'Yes.'

  'It's been too short a time to have known you, my general.'