The Gladiator

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Over there, sir.’

  Macro shaded his eyes as he stared into the setting sun. At first the glare concealed the approaching enemy from sight. He was surprised that the rebels were coming from the west. Marcellus’s column had been massacred away to the east. Where had they been? he wondered. Then he dismissed the concern as his eyes began to pick out the details of the enemy marching across the plain towards the city. There were two columns, one making directly for Gortyna and the other angling to the south to march round the city and take up position to the west, Macro guessed.

  ‘Ajax has finally decided to take the bull by the horns.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sempronius replied, panting as he caught up. ‘So it seems. An apposite metaphor, by the way’

  ‘Really?’ Macro glanced at his superior.

  ‘This is the island where bull-leaping had its origins, Macro. In the old times, that was the phrase used to describe the moment when the acrobat was ready to face a charging bull and grabbed its horns at the last moment before somersaulting over the bull’s back.’

  Macro stared at the senator for a moment. Cato was going to have a lot in common with his prospective father-in-law.The two of them were sure to spend many long winters’ evenings together swapping such useless nuggets of information. He sighed. ‘That’s fascinating, sir.’

  Julia glanced sidelong and smiled at Macro as her father continued.

  ‘The trouble is that the metaphor is the wrong way round. It is we who are facing the bull, not Ajax. And I fear that unless we are all as nimble and determined as the proverbial acrobat, we are going to be ground into the dust by the first charge.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘No, sir. I ain’t going down that easy. The rebels are just slaves. They lack training and there’s no question of them having any siege equipment. For the moment, we have the advantage.’

  ‘I hope you are right.’

  They continued to watch as the slave army deployed around the city. T h e clouds of dust kicked up by their feet and the hooves and wheels of the sprawling baggage train filled the air with a warm orange haze. Sempronius told his daughter to remain on the acropolis while he and Macro made their way down to the city gate to inspect their opponents more closely. Macro made a hasty calculation of the size ofthe enemy force before the light made estimation too difficult. The slaves marched in loose bands of varying size, and here and there amongst them the rays of the setting sun gleamed off burnished helmets, armour and weapons.

  ‘There must be over twenty thousand of them, sir.’ Macro spoke quietly so that his words would not be overheard by the nearest sentry. ‘Maybe as many as thirty thousand.’

  Sempronius puffed his cheeks out as he beheld the multitude settling around the city’s walls. ‘They would never believe this in Rome. An army of slaves? T h e idea is preposterous.’

  ‘Yet there it is, sir.’ ‘Quite.’ As they watched the slaves fall out of their columns and begin to make camp, a sudden movement caught Macro’s eye. He turned his head slightly to see a party of horsemen emerge from the slave host, trotting casually towards the city. Sempronius saw them a moment later and muttered, ‘Ajax?’

  ‘Who else?’

  They watched as the party of riders reined in some distance beyond the range of any archers on the wall. A single man came forward. Thin and sinewy, he wore the scale armour vest of a Roman officer over a light blue tunic. One of the garrison’s handful of archers casually strung an arrow and began to take aim.

  ‘Lower that bow!’ Macro bellowed at him. ‘No one is to shoot without orders!’

  The rider slowed his horse to a walk a short distance away and turned it to make his way along the wall, one hand resting on his hip as he surveyed the faces of the defenders with haughty disdain. Macro silently gave thanks that he had not yet given the order for the caltrops to be sown in the grass around the city. That was one surprise he most definitely wanted to save for the right moment.

  ‘General Ajax sends his greetings to his former masters!’ the rider called out in a clear, pleasant voice.

  Sempronius turned to Macro with an amused expression. ‘General Ajax? It seems the gladiator has aspirations.’

  The slave called out to the defenders again.’The general wishes to speak with the man who calls himself the governor of the province, Senator Sempronius.’

  Sempronius sniffed with irritation. Macro smiled. ‘And he’s well informed. I wonder what he wants to discuss?’

  There was a moment ofsilence before Sempronius gave a resigned shrug. ‘There’s only way to find out.’

  He turned away from the parapet and made for the stairs that led down to the gates.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ajax, in the company of Kharim, watched the progress of his .envoy carefully. Chilo had proved himself brave enough since he had joined the small band of fugitives that had attached them-

  selves to Ajax since the first days of the revolt. But there was a certain carelessness to his bravery that Ajax had noted during the very first skirmish they had fought with a Roman patrol. It was almost as if Chilo had no fear of death, even as he loved his new life, free from the terrible constraints of slavery. In the ranks of Ajax’s closest lieutenants, Chilo was clearly the most popular with the rest of the army. Chilo had been born free, the son of an Athenian merchant.When his father’s business partner disappeared with every last piece of silver just before the annual taxes were due to be paid, it had ruined the family. The tax collector, as was his right, had duly compelled the merchant to sell himself and his family into slavery. Chilo had been five at the time, and was separated from his family at the slave market when he was bought by a Roman official and sent to serve as a household slave on his estate in Crete.

  All this Ajax had learned over the camp fire as he led his growing band of runaway slaves across the ruined province. But of his years of servitude Chilo had said little, and when he did speak of them his eyes burned with an intense hatred a sentiment that Ajax could readily understand. He had long since come to understand the difference between men who were born slaves and those who had become slaves. There was a degree of acceptance of their condition in the former. They had joined his army to be sure, and fought well enough, but the majority lacked the fanaticism of Chilo and the others who had borne slavery as a mark of shame. Every slight and injustice that they endured had burned its way into their souls. It was like a slow poison, Ajax had realised once, when reflecting on his own experience.

  His father had commanded a small fleet of pirate ships that had defied the Roman navy for many years before they had finally been trapped and destroyed in a bay on the Illyrian coast. His father had paid the price for defying Rome by being crucified. Ajax and the others who had been captured were sold into slavery. It was ironic that he had been bought by the owner of a gladiator school and trained as a fighter, and now he was repaying his former masters for the skills he had learned in the arena by causing them as much suffering as possible. Every Roman he killed, every estate he sacked and every breath of free air that he drew slowly drained away the poison of slavery.

  The only concern that troubled his mind was the uncertainty of the future. He had not remotely considered attempting to launch a revolt when he had made his escape from the governor’s palace following the earthquake. There had been only the innate desire to run, to be free, to escape from Crete and find his way to some quiet corner of the world where the stain of slavery could gradually be erased. He had been with the governor’s wife when the building began to tremble, amid the grumbling roar as Poseidon brought down his wrath on the island. They were in one of the storerooms off the back of the kitchens, where she had summoned him. Antonia had been leaning against the wall, with him inside her, while her long nails and bejewelled rings had raked the flesh ofhis back.As the walls shook, she screamed and thrust him away, and in that moment Ajax had resolved to be free. Free of her, free of the indignity of being her sexual play thing and free of slavery. One
blow to her head had knocked her cold. Lifting her fleshy body into his arms,Ajax had left the collapsing palace, fleeing from the governor’s compound into the streets, no one paying any attention to a man helping a stricken woman to safety.

  Once he had escaped from the city, Ajax had been tempted to finish Antonia off. To strangle her, or crush her skull with a rock. Then, as he considered his revenge, it occurred to him that she should suffer as he had suffered. She would come to know the shame of being a slave before she was allowed to die. So, hands bound, and a leather collar and lead fixed about her neck, the fat patrician woman had been dragged along with her captor as he sought refuge in the hills behind Gortyna. Ajax was far from the only slave seeking refuge. On the first night of his new-found freedom, he came across several ragged men and women who had escaped from one of the estates. They welcomed him to their fire, shared their food and within a day looked to him as their leader. They too had wanted to kill Antonia, and Ajax had been tempted to let them, but in the end decided that she had not suffered enough just yet.

  Other slaves, singly and in groups and larger bands, swelled his ranks, bringing with them a handful of other men with gladiatorial experience, even a few ex-soldiers who had fallen on bad times or been condemned to slavery. These he set to work training the slaves to fight. Initially there had been few weapons, but they had improvised by tying knives to staves, using pitchforks and scythes, and eagerly snatching up any swords and spears that they came by in the estates and villages they had started to raid.

  At first Ajax was content to lead the slaves only until he had satisfied his need for revenge, and then he would carry out his original plan to leave the island and find a home far from the eyes of his former masters. But the more the escaped slaves looked to him to lead them, and the more it became clear that they were devoted to him, the less inclined he was to desert them. There was a bond of loyalty between them, he realised and accepted. A quality that he had not experienced in the years he had been a slave.

  If he could not leave them, then it was his duty to see that they were saved from being returned to the living death of their former condition. Gathering the best men around him, Ajax made each the commander of a band of slaves. They were to be responsible for showing their men how to use weapons, how to take up position in simple formations and also for organising the distribution of rations and spoils. From the outset Ajax had made it clear that any food that was captured was the property of all. He addressed the ragtag mob from the top of a broken wall and told them that he would lead any who accepted his rules. He promised them that they would have revenge on their masters, and that he would lead them to freedom. Only a handful of bitter or timid spirits had refused his conditions and left the rebel camp.The crowd that remained clamoured to fight their former masters to the death.

  The first of their fights had been against a small Roman foraging column that had ventured out from Matala. Despite the heavy losses, Ajax had been impressed by the fearlessness with which his rebels had charged the spears and shields of the Roman troops. Later their courage had been repaid with the destruction ofthe column that had arrogantly allowed itself to be led into an ambush. And then, only three days ago, they had achieved an even greater success. Ajax smiled. One which he would relish telling these Romans about, provided they had the guts to emerge from their defences and speak with him.

  ‘Look there!’ Kharim nodded towards the city. ‘It seems that the Romans are falling for Chilo’s charms.’

  Ajax stared towards Gortyna, and saw one of the doors in the gatehouse begin to open. Several figures emerged, auxiliaries. They trotted out and formed a skirmish line a short distance in front of the gatehouse. A moment later two more men emerged, and took up position behind the soldiers. Chilo, alerted to their appearance, turned his horse and trotted towards them, reining in right in front of the nearest enemy soldier, who nervously backed off a few paces. There was a brief exchange of words before Chilo wheeled his mount and galloped back towards Ajax and his companions.

  Dusk was settling over the plain as he drew up, scattering dust and stones.

  ‘General,’ he grinned. ‘It seems they’re willing to talk.’

  ‘Talk?’ Ajax responded disdainfully. ‘Oh yes, they’ll talk all right. But will they listen?’

  ‘If they want to live then they’ll listen,’ Kharim said quietly ‘Do you want me to bring the wagon forward?’

  Ajax nodded. ‘Keep the cover on, and keep it back fifty paces.’ ‘Yes, General.’ Kharim wheeled his mount away and galloped back towards the baggage train. Ajax took a deep breath and waved at Chilo to ride with him. The six men, all ex-gladiators, whom he had chosen for his bodyguard, eased their mounts into a trot and followed their leader, warily watching the waiting Romans for any sign of treachery. Ajax was under no illusions about the possibility that the enemy might not abide by the usual rules of parley. He reined in beyond javelin range of the Roman skirmishers and halted his men.

  ‘Chilo, you and the others stay here. If they play any tricks, then come for me.’

  ‘General, you can’t trust them. Make them come to us.’

  ‘No, I want them to see I am not afraid.’ Ajax clicked his tongue and edged his horse forwards. ‘You stay put, Chilo. That is an order. When Kharim brings the wagon up, I want you to have it halted behind my bodyguards.’

  ‘Yes, General.’

  Ajax walked his horse across the open ground at an easy pace. The men ahead of him were clearly visible in the rays of the setting sun, washed in the same red hue that burnished the scrub grass and stones outside the city. The auxiliaries were squinting into the light, some having grounded their spears to shade their eyes. He knew that he would appear as a dark silhouette to them, seemingly larger than life and threatening as he approached. It might make him a clearer target, but any Roman attempting to hurl a javelin, or even a spear, would be forced to squint, and their aim was sure to be spoiled. He stopped twenty paces from the nearest of the auxiliaries. The horse snorted and pawed the dusty ground with its hooves.

  ‘Who are you?’ A man called out from behind the Roman line.

  ‘Ajax, general of the army of free men.’ He swept his arm back towards the host making camp for the night. ‘I am here to state our demands. To the governor in person. To his minion, if the governor is too fearful to speak with me.’

  ‘I am not afraid,’ the man responded haughtily. ‘Not of you, nor your band of rebels.’

  ‘Then prove it! Come forward and face me.’ Ajax thrust his arm down, pointing at the ground. ‘Here, beyond the protection, of your men.’

  The two figures standing behind the skirmishers strode boldly towards him, passing through their men and drawing up ten feet away One wore armour, a scarlet cloak and a helmet, and he hefted his centurion’s vine cane as he scrutinised the commander of the slave army. Ajax felt a cold chill tickle his neck. He recognised the face. This was the officer who had led the foraging column. But he had seen him before, somewhere else, he was certain of it, yet for the present could not place him. He turned his attention to the other Roman, who was taller and wore a white tunic with a broad red stripe. He crossed his arms as he drew himself up to his full height to confront Ajax.

  ‘Say your piece, slave.’

  Ajax bit back on his irritation. ‘I no longer count myself a slave, nor do any ofthe men and women in my army’

  ‘Army? That is no army. Merely a rabble.’

  Ajax could not help smiling. ‘That rabble slaughtered a thousand of your best men, Sempronius.’

  The Roman clamped his lips together.

  ‘Besides,’ Ajax continued, ‘my army now controls most of southern Crete. We go where we will, while you Romans hide behind your defences and pray for deliverance. But your gods have deserted you. There is nothing that stands between you and certain death, except me.’

  ‘I see, you’ve come to save us,’ Sempronius sneered.

  ‘I have come to offer you a
chance to save your lives and the lives of every man, woman and child inside the walls of Gortyna.’

  ‘And how can I save them?’

  ‘By giving us our freedom and by ensuring that we are given free passage from this island to the eastern frontier of the empire.’

  Sempronius chuckled bitterly. ‘Is that all?’ ‘It is a fair exchange for your lives, wouldn’t you say?’ ‘No. It is out of the question. I don’t have the authority to do that.’ ‘But you are the governor. You act in the name of the emperor and the senate. You could grant us freedom.’ ‘What’s the point?’ Sempronius sneered. ‘I thought you said you were no longer slaves.’ ‘I want it in writing, ‘Ajax said firmly. ‘I want it guaranteed in the name of Rome.’ ‘Why?’ Sempronius insisted. ‘What difference does it make?’ Ajax smiled.’I know what sticklers you people are for paperwork.

  I want our freedom to be official.’ Sempronius was silent for a moment. ‘You want to rub our noses in it, you mean. This is about revenge.’

  ‘Yes . . .’The image ofhis father nailed to a crossbeam and left to die appeared in Ajax’s mind – raw and painful. ‘I deserve revenge for the suffering I have endured at the hands of your people. So do all those who now follow me. Your emperor should count himself lucky that my demands are so modest.’

  ‘But you must know that Claudius could not possibly concede to this. The senate would not stand for it. Nor would the mob. Ifhe gave in to the demands of a common slave the mob would tear him to pieces.’