'I know.' Cato gestured helplessly with his hands. 'But we have no choice. We have to go back.'
Macro pursed his lips. 'That's your choice, sir. Your order.'
'Yes. Yes it is.'
Three days later the Sobek led the way into Alexandria's great harbour. The vast structure of the lighthouse constructed on the rock of Pharos island by order of Ptolemy II towered above the two warships. The men aboard had all been seconded from the Roman forces at Alexandria to help crush the slave rebellion on Crete and so were used to the extraordinary vision of the lighthouse. Cato, too, had seen it before, but nevertheless paused from his pacing up and down the deck to marvel at the scale of Ptolemy's ambition. Besides the lighthouse, there was the vast complex of the Great Library, the tomb of Alexander the Great and the broad avenue of the Canopus which ran across the heart of the city. Everything about the city was designed to impress visitors and foster a sense of superiority in its citizens.
It was close to midday and the noon sun forced Cato to squint as he looked up at the lighthouse. A steady column of smoke rose from the fire that blazed permanently at the very top of the tower, proclaiming the presence of the city to ships far out at sea, or along the coastline of Egypt.
Cato looked down again, clasping his hands behind his back, and resumed his pacing along the main deck of the warship. It had become a habit since the hunt for Ajax had begun. Being cooped up on a small vessel was anathema to Cato's restless spirit and the routine of walking the deck gave a limited amount of the exercise he craved, as well as time to think.
He was deeply frustrated by the enforced delay in pursuing Ajax. However, there was no alternative. Even with the food and water they had gleaned from the cargo ship, the men were starving and their throats were parched. They were in no condition to fight Ajax's desperate gang of fugitives, most of whom were gladiators. Men who had spent years training to do nothing but fight and kill in the arena. The bodies on the cargo ship had been weighted and buried at sea, together with the sailor who had been nailed to the mast and had expired a few hours after he had been taken aboard the Sobek. A small prize crew had been put aboard the cargo ship with orders to make best speed to Alexandria. The warships had gone ahead, driven on by the prefect in his desire to return to the hunt as swiftly as possible.
'Furl the sail!' the trierarch, Phermon, ordered from the stern. 'Make ready the oars!'
Moments later the Sobek continued towards the naval harbour, lying next to the royal palaces, once the home of pharaohs but now the quarters of the Roman governor of Egypt and his staff. The oars rose, swept forward and fell in a steady rhythm as the ship glided over the calm waters towards the stone jetties where the Alexandrian fleet was moored. Already Cato could see a sentry rushing from the signal tower at the entrance to the naval harbour to report the arrival of the two ships.
Cato made his way aft and descended into the stern cabin. He was a head taller than Macro and was forced to stoop uncomfortably as he put on the cleanest of the two tunics that he had brought with him from Crete. Then he struggled into the vest of scale armour and fastened the harness over the top. The harness was decorated with the silver discs of the medals he had been awarded during his service in the Second Legion. The unit had been part of the army that had invaded Britain a few years earlier when Cato first proved himself as a soldier, and won promotion to the rank of centurion. Now he was a prefect, an officer singled out for senior command.
But only once his rank was confirmed by the Emperor, Cato reflected. And that was not likely to happen if he failed to find and destroy Ajax, the bloodthirsty rebel who had done his best to destroy the province of Crete. He had also managed to capture the Egyptian grain fleet when it had put into Crete on the way to Rome, thereby threatening to starve the people of the capital. For a brief moment Cato felt a grudging admiration for his enemy. Ajax was the kind of man who understood all the forces in play, and made his plans accordingly. Truly, he was as dangerous a foe as Cato had ever faced and he presented the gravest of threats to Rome itself. Such a danger could never be tolerated and if Cato failed to capture or kill Ajax, then the Emperor would not forgive him. A refusal to confirm his promotion to prefect would be the least of Cato's worries. More likely he would be reduced in rank and sent to end his days in some gods forsaken outpost on the furthest fringe of the Empire. That would mean an end to his military career, but there would be a higher price than that. He would be forced to give up Julia.
The daughter of a senator could not be expected to endure the hard life on a frontier post. She would stay in Rome and find a better prospect for a husband. The thought cut deeply into Cato's heart, yet he would not blame Julia if that happened. Despite his feelings for her, Cato was rational enough to know that love had its limits. The idea of having Julia follow him into exile and growing to resent him for it filled him with dread. Better that he should go alone, and have a memory to cherish, than have his failure compounded by gnawing bitterness.
Cato adjusted his harness, then reached for his sword belt and slipped it over his head on to the shoulder. Lastly, he opened the small chest at the foot of his cot and took out the leather scroll case that contained the orders he had been given by Julia's father, Senator Sempronius, to track down Ajax. A separate document stated that he had been promoted to prefect, subject to imperial confirmation. Between the two documents, Cato hoped that he would have sufficient authority to secure the assistance of the governor in carrying out his mission.
He was not looking forward to meeting the governor again. The last time, Cato had sailed from Crete, on Senator Sempronius's behalf, to ask for reinforcements to put down the rebellion. It had been an uneasy confrontation, and only the threat of being co-opted into the ranks of those who would share the blame for the fall of Crete had induced the governor of Egypt to grudgingly provide the necessary men and ships to defeat Ajax.
Cato picked up his helmet, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then turned to climb back on to the deck, where he could complete his dress without having to crouch down to avoid crushing the crest of his helmet. As he fastened the straps under his chin, Cato watched the trierarch and his men complete the final stage of their approach to the jetty. Mooring cables were tossed ashore to waiting sailors and the Sobek was eased into position, creaking up against the woven mass of reed fenders.
Cato turned to the trierarch. 'I want you to go ashore and find the fleet's quartermaster. I want both ships resupplied as soon as possible. There will be no time for any shore leave for the crews. I intend to put back to sea the moment I have reported to the governor and fresh supplies are on board.'
The trierarch puffed his cheeks and responded in an undertone. 'Sir, the men are exhausted. They've not seen their families for months. A day or two ashore will put heart back into 'em.'
'They are to remain on the ship,' Cato said firmly. 'Any man who attempts to go ashore will be treated as a deserter. Is that understood?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good.' Cato turned away and saw that the Ibis was mooring directly astern. The gangway was already run out and Macro scrambled on to the jetty and made his way alongside the Sobek to wait for Cato.
'Remember what I said,' Cato warned the trierarch, and then turned away to go ashore. As soon as he stepped on to the paved surface, it seemed to Cato that the land was shifting unsteadily beneath his boots. He struggled to adjust his sense of balance and Macro winked at him.
'Now that is a strange feeling.'
'Quite,' Cato agreed. 'Come on.'
They set off along the jetty, the heat beating off the stones beneath them. Ahead, at the gate leading from the jetty towards the palace buildings, a party of legionaries stood waiting, a centurion standing in front of them, vine cane held across his thighs as he stood with his feet apart.
'Didn't take long to send out a reception committee,' Macro remarked. 'Someone was quick off the mark in calling out an honour guard.'
'Yes.' Cato frowned. 'But how could they know?'
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'Perhaps you're not the only one with good eyesight,' Macro suggested mildly. 'Still, full marks to the officer in charge of the watch.'
They continued, as steadily and with as much dignity as their sea legs allowed, towards the waiting soldiers. As they approached the gate, the centurion stepped forward and raised his right hand in a salute.
'Are you Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, sir?'
'Yes.'
'And you, Centurion Lucius Cornelius Macro?'
Macro nodded. 'I take it you're here to escort us to your commander?'
The centurion looked mildly surprised.
Cato shook his head. 'There's no time for formalities. I have to see the governor, at once.'
'Formalities?' The centurion gestured to his waiting men. 'I think you misunderstand, sir. We've not been sent to greet you. I've been ordered to place you under arrest. Both of you.'
'Arrest?' Macro glared. 'What the bloody hell are you talking about. Arrest?'
'Wait!' Cato held up his hand. 'Whose order is this?'
'Comes straight from the governor, sir. Soon as he had word that the ships were entering the harbour. You're to be taken to the watchroom and held there until further orders are issued. If you'll follow me, sir?'
'Why?' Cato stood his ground. 'What are the charges?'
The centurion stared at them. 'I should have thought that's obvious, sir. Murder, and piracy.'
CHAPTER FOUR
They were left alone in the watchroom. The door remained open and four sentries stood guard outside. The room itself was well-proportioned with high ceilings and ventilated by large windows high up on the walls. The distant sounds of the city outside the palace merged into a constant low drone.
Cato was sitting at a table, drinking a cup of water, savouring the fact that he no longer had to limit himself to a small ration.
Macro glanced out at the guards and crossed the room and sat on a stool opposite Cato. 'What the hell is going on? Why are we under arrest?'
'You heard him. Murder and piracy.'
'What kind of crap is that?' Macro fumed. 'We're officers of the Roman army. And you, you're a prefect.'
'Glad you've noticed.'
'How dare they treat you like this? By the gods, some fool will pay for this, and pay dearly.'
'Macro, there's obviously been some mistake. It'll be sorted out. There's no use flaring up, you're just wasting your energy.' Cato filled another cup and pushed it across the table towards his friend. 'Here. Have a drink.'
Macro gritted his teeth as he controlled his temper. Then he took the cup and drained it quickly and set it down with a sharp rap. 'Another.'
This time he drank more slowly then pushed the empty cup away. 'That's better. Bloody tongue was starting to feel like a strip of old boot leather.'
'I know what you mean.' Cato nodded. 'I hope water's been provided for the men on the ships. They're still out there in the sun.'
Macro frowned at him. 'I think you should be concentrating on our predicament rather than theirs.'
'Why? Didn't you always tell me that a good officer thinks of the well-being of his men before his own? You used to be quite adamant about that when I was your optio.'
'Did I?' Macro grumbled. 'What good is that doing you right now, eh?'
'It's taking my mind off being stuck in here with a firebrand who is storming around the place like a caged bull.'
Macro's weathered and scarred face creased into a smile. 'Sorry. I just don't take kindly to being called a murderer and pirate. A killer and plunderer, yes. That goes with the job.'
'To some minds that would seem to be a distinction of degree rather than category, Macro,' Cato replied wryly.
'Really?' Macro raised his eyebrows. 'Then fuck 'em, I say. I'm no murderer.'
Cato had become well used to the rather rough and ready nature of Macro's soldier's sophistry and simply shrugged.
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of boots in the corridor outside the watchroom and a moment later the guards stepped aside to admit the centurion in charge of the arresting party, as well as the governor of the province and a scribe. The centurion stood to one side and bowed his head as he announced, 'His Excellency, Gaius Petronius, governor of Alexandria and the province of Egypt, and legate of the Emperor.'
Cato and Macro stood up and bowed their heads as Petronius strode to the centre of the room and stopped, hands on hips, a dark expression on his face. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the corner. The scribe hurried over, sat cross-legged, and took a waxed tablet and stylus from his satchel.
Petronius rounded on Cato. 'I let you take my forces to Crete to quash rebellion, not to spread it about even more widely. You two have a lot to answer for.' Petronius glared at them. 'You've got the entire delta region up in arms and not just them. The merchants' and traders' guilds of the city want your heads. I'm tempted to give due legal process a miss and let the mob tear you to pieces, before their mood boils over into open revolt.' He folded his arms. 'So please, in the name of all the gods, tell me just what the hell you two think you are up to?'
'Up to, sir?' Cato shook his head. 'I don't understand.'
'Bollocks! I've been getting reports for the best part of a month that you have been terrorising the coastal villages. Landing, demanding supplies and killing those who refuse to cooperate. I've even heard that you have been stopping ships, torturing their crews for information and then killing almost everyone on board before you move on.'
Macro and Cato exchanged a quick look.
'Oh, don't deny it!' the governor raged. 'I have reports naming you. And a handful of witnesses that you have been kind enough to spare. More than enough evidence to have you nailed to a cross before the day is out. So,' he forced himself to control his temper before he continued, 'I ask you again, what do you think you have been playing at? According to the last despatch I had from Crete, you had been sent to track down a renegade slave. Not to foment yet another rebellion here in Egypt. I'm not sure who poses the greatest threat to peace in the Empire, a renegade gladiator, or the two moronic thugs sent to track him down. To add insult to injury you are using my men, and my ships, to carry out your dirty work. Don't think that has escaped the notice of the mob either. One of my patrols was stoned as it passed through the streets yesterday. I lost an optio and one of the men. All thanks to you two and the heavy-handed way you have gone about hunting down this character, Ajax.'
'But we've done nothing, sir,' Macro protested. 'None of it's true.'
'Tell that to the witnesses.'
'Then they're lying. Someone's put them up to it.'
'We shall see. My prosecutors have been taking statements, gathering evidence. I shall take every possible step to put you two on trial as soon as I can. Then, a public execution. That might just be enough to satisfy the mob and calm things down here in Egypt.'
Macro snorted with derision. 'You're having me on! It's utter shit, all of it.'
'Trust me, Centurion, that's exactly what is going to happen. What's more, the Emperor, and that snake of his, the imperial secretary, Narcissus, will approve my action without a moment's hesitation.'
Cato had been listening to the heated exchange in silence. Now, as understanding dawned, he smiled without humour.
'What in Hades are you grinning at?' asked the governor. 'I see no cause for amusement.'
'It's Ajax, sir. He's responsible for all of this.'
'Ajax?'
'Of course. He's been covering his tracks. Better than that, he's been stirring up the locals in his wake.'
'What do you mean?'
'We came across a ship, adrift, a few days back. All the crew dead, save one who told us that it was the work of Centurion Macro.'
Macro snorted. 'Which came as something of a bloody surprise to me, as you can imagine.'
'It also explains why those villagers fled when we landed on the coast the day before,' Cato continued. 'He's been a busy lad, our gladiator.'
'I ass
ume you can prove this?' said the governor. 'Can this survivor of yours testify that the man who attacked his ship was not Macro?'
'Unfortunately not, sir. He died soon afterwards.'
'How convenient.'
'Not for us, it seems. Nonetheless, you produce your other witnesses and see if they can identify either of us as their attackers. That should prove our innocence.'
The governor was silent for a moment and then nodded. 'Very well. You have a point.' He paced to the door and clicked his fingers at one of the guards standing outside. 'You, go and fetch that temple priest, Hamedes. He's being held over at the palace barracks. I want him brought here at once. Don't tell him anything about these two officers. Understand?'
The guard saluted and turned to stride off down the corridor. Petronius returned to Macro and Cato. 'I'll know soon enough if you're telling me the truth. One of the temples on the delta was raided ten days ago. The priests were killed and the temple's strongbox was taken. Only one person was spared. He turned up at the gates of the city yesterday, babbling about the Roman soldiers who had attacked the temple. He was taken into custody to have his wounds dressed and to be fed and rested before we took a statement. We'll see what he says when he encounters you two.' He paused and stared at Macro and Cato for a moment before he continued. 'However, if you're being straight with me, and this is all the work of Ajax, then it seems we're dealing with a rather more dangerous and resourceful enemy than I thought.'
Cato nodded. 'Oh, he's all that and more. Utterly ruthless. My guess is that he has ambitions to stir up a fresh revolt here in Egypt. That's the only thing that makes sense.'
'But why?' Macro interrupted. 'Why doesn't he just run and go to ground? Find somewhere to hide until we give up the chase, then he and his followers can live out their lives as free men.'
'No, they'll always be fugitives. Ajax knows that. There can be no peace for him. No matter where he goes, Rome will never give up the hunt. So, all that is left to him is to fight on. It's all he knows. One way or another he will always be our enemy. Until he is found and killed.'
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