The Gladiator

by Simon Scarrow

  His words were met with silent disapproval. Fuscus cleared his throat. ‘General, we lost too many good men in the first assault. And that was only against one gateway. If we are to take the city, we will have to attack in far greater strength. Next time we would lose thousands of men, not hundreds.’

  ‘That is true. I won’t deny it. But if we fail to take Gortyna and Romewon’t negotiate with us, then we are all dead in the end.’

  ‘But there is no need to attack the city,’ Fuscus continued. ‘We can starve them out.’

  ‘And how long will that take? Do you imagine they were idle when we were dealing with Matala? My guess is that they took the opportunity to stock up with all the food supplies .they could find. They might hold out for months. Long enough for an army to land in Crete and break the siege. Besides, how are we expected to feed our people for that long? Within a few days we will have exhausted the immediate area, and will have to send parties further and further afield to find food. We must take the city as soon as possible, whatever the cost.’

  This time several of the men shook their heads and there were muttered protests. Another man spoke up. ‘General, it is too much to ask of our men. They are brave and they have achieved great things so far. But it would take a trained army to capture Gortyna. I cannot ask my men to risk their lives in a reckless attack. Even if I agreed to it, I doubt they would follow my orders.’

  Some of his comrades added their agreement to his view and Ajax glared at them in frustration. ‘Then we might as well cut our losses totally and prepare for surrender now. If we are lucky we might get the governor to agree to generous terms ifwe offer to lay down our arms and end the rebellion. I’m sure that he would be willing to concede to just executing the ringleaders, and any others who could be identified as having raised their hands against their masters. It would not end there. You know the law. If any slave of a household is found guilty of killing his master, then all the slaves of the household are condemned to death. Those who survived would be lucky to escape with a flogging before being returned to their owners.’ Ajax looked round the room defiantly. ‘Shall we go down that road, my brothers?’

  There was a tense silence before Fuscus dared to reply. He swallowed nervously as he addressed the gladiator. ‘General, it seems that you are offering us a choice of death now, or death later. Our people are living for the moment. Every day of freedom is a gift to them. Can you wonder that they believe that life is too precious to be risked in an attack on Gortyna?’

  Ajax felt his guts tighten into a knot. He wanted to scream at these fools. Had they not taken great risks and made great sacrifices already? Now was not the time to let their courage fail them. He forced his voice to remain calm.

  ‘I am sure that Chilo thought his life was precious. Yet he gave it up for the rebellion, and died with no regrets.’

  Fuscus looked down as he replied. ‘I am not Chilo.’

  ‘Evidently. And what about the rest of you? Would you betray his legacy?’

  No one replied, and Ajax refused to break the guilty silence that tormented them. He was uncertain what to do, or what to say, and had to clench his fists behind his back and fight the urge to bellow his rage at them, to shame them. For a moment he resolved to attack the city by himself. He would stride towards the walls sword in hand and see how many of his people had the guts to follow him and see through the commitment they had made to each other by joining in rebellion against Rome.

  But then a figure emerged from the door leading back into the farm, one of the leaders of the patrols that Ajax had sent to scour the island. He was breathing hard and sweat glistened on his skin.

  ‘What is it?’ Ajax demanded.

  The scout glanced round at the assembled commanders ofthe war bands, and then back at Ajax.

  ‘Speak,’ he ordered. ‘Make your report.’ The scout nodded, then licked his dry lips and began. ‘We’ve found some ships, General. A whole fleet of them. They’re in b three days’ ride from here.’

  ‘Ships? A fleet?’ Ajax raised an eyebrow. ‘Warships?’

  ‘No, General. Cargo ships. Huge cargo ships, filled with grain We captured one of their crew and questioned him. These ships are the grain fleet, sailing for Rome.They were caught in a great storm.Two of them sank. The rest were damaged and have put into the bay to make repairs. That’s where we found them, beached while they wait for spars, cordage and sails to arrive so they can be repaired and continue sailing for Rome.’

  Ajax thought quickly.’How soon before the repairs are complete?’

  ‘A while yet, sir. Our man reckoned that it would take several days to organise the spare parts and send them to the bay’

  ‘Where is this crewman?’

  T h e scout nicked his throat with his finger. ‘Sorry, General. I thought it was for the best.’

  Ajax nodded. Already his mind was grasping the significance of this news. He smiled to himself and muttered, ‘The grain fleet . . .’

  Fuscus’s eyes were wide with excitement. ‘By the gods, we could feed our people for the best part of a year if we took their cargo.’

  Ajax chuckled. ‘You’re missing the point, Fuscus. It’s not our people who need the grain. It’s the people of Rome. Without the grain fleet they will starve. There are over a million mouths to feed in Rome. How long do you think the emperor will be able to defy a starving mob?’ Ajax nodded gently to himself. ‘At last we have a weapon that we can hold at the throat of our enemy.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The crews of the warships were left with the task of burying the dead of Matala, while Fulvius marched his column on to Gortyna. Cato rode ahead with a squadron from the mounted cohort, consumed with anxiety for the fate of his friends. He led the horsemen on at a gallop, thundering along the dusty road to the provincial capital, all the while terrified of what he might see when he finally arrived in sight of the city. The horses and men were only allowed to stop and rest when they were on the verge of exhaustion, and then Cato ordered them to walk on until he judged that the mounts had recovered enough to continue being ridden.

  All the time his mind was a raging turmoil ofimages. In his mind’s eye he saw Gortyna in smouldering ruins, streets littered with butchered bodies, leading all the way up to the acropolis, where . . . He clamped his eyes shut for an instant to force the image from his mind and turned instead to prayer, silently begging the gods to spare Julia, Macro and all the others. If they were safe, then Cato swore to be the servant ofthe gods – their slave – and live only to please them. If the price of his friends’ lives was his own, then so be it.

  An inner voice chided him for being a hypocrite. Since when had he ever placed so much faith in divine intervention? He felt torn between the two impulses, and then turned instead to thoughts of revenge. If Ajax had killed them, Cato resolved never to rest until the gladiator was hunted down and killed, whatever the cost. His heart filled with hatred that spilled into his veins and he was consumed with a burning intensity of purpose to destroy Ajax, to obliterate every fragment of his being. Until now, he had never tasted such a desire for revenge, and for a brief moment some part of his mind, still capable of rational thought, reminded him that this was the self-same revenge that fuelled the fire burning in the heart ofAjax.

  ‘Fuck Ajax,’ Cato muttered to himself through clenched teeth.

  The decurion who was walking his horse beside him glanced at Cato. ‘Sir?’

  ‘What?’ Cato glared at him. ‘I thought you said something. An order, like.’ ‘No. It was nothing. Nothing.’ Cato moved round to the side of the horse. ‘Mount up!’ The horses’ flanks were still heaving like bellows and the decurion looked at Cato ready to protest, then bit his lip. The rest of the squadron wearily pulled themselves back into the saddle and took up their reins.

  ‘Get a move on!’ Cato barked at the slowest of them. ‘If we’re too late, then the gods help you.’

  ‘Sir,’ the decurion edged his mount closer to
Cato and lowered his voice, ‘the lads are exhausted.’

  ‘I don’t bloody care.We have to reach Gortyna as soon as possible. D’you hear?’

  ‘Sir, it will not make any difference how quickly we reach Gortyna.’ He gestured to his men. ‘There’s only thirty of us. If the slaves are there, then we’re not going to be able to do anything. If they’ve already dealt with the city, then . . .’ He shrugged. ‘We won’t be able to change what has happened.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn,’ Cato growled. ‘I’m in command, and if we have to ride the horses into the ground to reach Gortyna before dark, we’ll do it. Understand?’

  The decurion took a deep breath and nodded.

  ‘Then let’s go.’ Cato thrust his arm in the air, and swept it forwards as he spurred his horse into a trot. ‘Advance!’

  He increased the pace into a gallop and they pounded on down the road. Late in the afternoon, as the shadows were lengthening, the milestones indicated that the city was close. T h e crops on either side had been harvested, and the trees in the orchards and olive groves that they passed were stripped bare, as if a host of locusts had swept through the land. There were bodies too, sprawled beside carts and wagons that had been unable to outrun the slaves. Cato felt his guts knot in agony as he saw the evidence that Ajax and his army had gone before him. He was being driven to the edge of sanity by the dread of the sight that would greet them when they finally reached t h e city.

  Then they passed the last milestone, as the road climbed over a slight rise, and the city was there before them. Cato reined in. ‘Halt!’

  As the horses snorted and the riders breathed heavily, Cato squinted as he scanned the landscape. The ground surrounding Gortyna bore the unmistakable signs of being the site of a huge camp. The remains of hundreds of fires had scorched the ground and left low piles of ash at their centre. Every tree, shrub and small building had been stripped for firewood and kindling. Here and there lay piles of animal bones picked clean by those who had fed on them and were now attracting small clumps of birds and rats who gleaned the bits of gristle that were left. There were some latrine ditches, but most of those who had camped here had simply defecated in mutually agreed areas where patches of their waste lay in clear view. A handful of figures were visible outside the city and more on the walls and in the towers along them.

  ‘Ours or theirs?’ muttered the decurion.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Cato replied, tightening his grip on the reins.

  The decurion looked sharply at him. ‘If they are slaves, then our mounts are too far gone to make much of an escape.’

  ‘Then you had better pray that those are our men.’ Cato waved the column on and urged his horse into a trot. They made their way across the plain towards the city. At their approach there was a thin blast from a horn and those outside the city hurriedly made their way back towards the nearest gates and sally ports. Cato slowed the pace as they came within quarter of a mile of the city’s west gate and ordered the squadron’s standard bearer to raise his staff so. that the pennant would be clearly visible as they approached.

  The decurion gestured towards the men on the gate. ‘They’re clearly ours, sir.’

  ‘Too early to say,’ Cato replied. ‘The rebels have been helping themselves to the kit they took off our men. Keep your eyes peeled.’ As Cato walked his horse towards the closed gate, a figure stepped up behind the ramparts and raised a hand. ‘Halt! You at the front, advance and be recognised.’

  Cato clicked his tongue and edged forward. ‘Tribune Cato! Returning from Alexandria with the reinforcement column. Open the gate!’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ the optio on watch replied, with evident relief.

  Moments later the doors swung inwards and Cato spurred his horse into the city, followed by the rest of the squadron. As soon as he was through the arched gateway he slipped off the back of the horse and strode over to the optio,jerking his thumb towards the plain.

  ‘Seems you had company whilst I was gone.’ ‘Yes, sir. Thousands of ‘em.’ ‘Did they give you any trouble?’ ‘They made one attack the day they arrived, and paid a heavy price. After that they settled in to starve us out.’ ‘So where are they?’ The optio shook his head. ‘No idea, sir. They were gone this morning. Must have marched off during the night and left the fires burning so we wouldn’t catch on until first light. The governor’s sent patrols off to search for them and see where they’re headed.’

  ‘The governor?’ Cato frowned. ‘Where’s the prefect? Macro?’ ‘Macro’s gone, sir.’ ‘Gone?’ Cato stepped up to the optio and grabbed his harness.

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’ ‘Captured, sir.’ ‘Macro taken prisoner? I don’t believe it. How is that possible?

  You said the attack was beaten off.’ ‘It didn’t happen then, sir. It was afterwards, while he was trying to get the governor’s daughter to safety, away from the city.’ Cato swallowed and stared into the optio’s eyes, unblinking. He lowered his voice. ‘The governor’s daughter, was she also captured?’ ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘The leader ofthe rebels, that gladiator, had them brought forward in a cage when he tried to talk the governor into surrendering.’

  Cato felt a flush of hope lighten his heart. ‘So they’re alive.’ ‘Yes, sir. Or at least they were when the gladiator showed them to the governor. That was several days ago though, sir. Last anyone has seen of them.’

  Dread flooded back into Cato’s heart. He looked down and saw his knuckles were white where he was holding the optio’s harness so tightly. He forced himself to let go and step back, and gestured to the cavalrymen. ‘Have these men taken to the stables at the governor’s palace. Make sure horses and men get fed and find them a place to rest.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Does the governor still have his headquarters up on the acropolis?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very well.’ Cato breathed deeply to ease the tension in his chest. ‘Carry on, Optio.’

  Leaving his horse in the care of the decurion, Cato made his way through the streets towards the road leading up to the entrance ofthe acropolis. The townspeople forced to live in the ruins he passed spared him no more than a glance as they prepared for the evening meal. T h e weary resignation of their spirits was clear in almost every face. Only the children showed any signs oflife and contentment as they heedlessly played amid piles of rubble between the surviving buildings.

  The moment ofhope that Cato had felt when he had heard that Macro and Julia were alive was now dashed by the know- ledge that they were still in the hands ofAjax.While they served a purpose as hostages they would live, but the moment the enemy judged them worthless their lives would be forfeit. Worse still, if Ajax took it into his head to enact some kind of grisly revenge for the death of his father, then Macro and Julia would be subjected to every imaginable torture and torment before being granted the mercy of death. Cato felt sick at the idea, and had to pause in his stride for a moment before he could continue up the slope to the acropolis.

  When he reached the headquarters he found Senator Sempronius in his office, sitting at the window as he stared blankly out across the city. A wine jug was on the desk and he was nursing a goblet in his hand when Cato rapped on the door frame.

  ‘What is it now?’ Sempronius said wearily. ‘Anyway, I thought I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed.’

  ‘It’s me, sir.’ Cato spoke gently.

  Sempronius turned round quickly and his expression filled with relief. ‘Cato! I feared we had seen the last of you. Come in, my boy. Sit you down!’

  His words were slightly slurred. Cato could not tell ifit was from exhaustion, grief or wine. Sempronius set his cup down on the table and refilled it before pushing it towards Cato. A small amount slopped over the rim and ran red down the side. The senator leaned forward on his elbows. ‘Well, what have you to report?’

  ‘Sir, I’ve heard what happene
d to Macro and Julia.’ Sempronius’s shoulders sagged. ‘Yes.’ ‘We have to believe they’re still alive.’ The governor nodded, and for a few moments both men stared at each other in a shared grief that went beyond words. Then Sempronius cleared his throat and looked down at his hands as he spoke. ‘Your report, please.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Legate Petronius has provided most of the men you requested. We landed at Matala this morning. I rode ahead of the main force. The reinforcements will reach Gortyna by tomorrow night.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘There are also warships and marines at Matala that we can call on. The reinforcements are under the command of First Spear Centurion Fulvius, of the Twenty-Second Legion.’

  ‘Fulvius? Why not you, as I requested?’

  ‘Legate Petronius decided I was too junior for such a command. He appointed Fulvius to lead the column until the reinforcements reach Gortyna, and then you are to assume authority over them. I had thought that Macro would take charge, sir.’

  ‘Yes, well, that is no longer possible. We shall need a new commander.’ Sempronius looked up. ‘Do you still have that document authorising you to act as tribune?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Cato reached for the thong around his neck, and pulled the leather tube out of his tunic and offered it to the governor. ‘It’s here, together with your ring.’

  Sempronius took the tube, pulled off the cap and tipped the contents out on to the desk. He placed his family ring back on his finger and then picked up the roll ofparchment and tapped it gently on the desk as he thought. ‘Macro is no longer with us. Therefore the command passes to you, Cato.’