The Gladiator

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It was taking far too long for the force to assemble, Cato fretted irritably as he made his way along the breakwater extending from the old royal quarter into the great harbour. To his left there was a mass of commercial shipping riding at anchor waiting for a berth, and beyond lay the Heptastadion — the long causeway stretching from the mainland to the island of Pharos. As he glanced at it, Cato could not help admiring the ambition of the Alexandrines once again. The city was full of wonders, as he had discovered while waiting for Petronius to assemble the relief force to be sent to Crete.

The library had overawed him. Never before had he seen such a concentration of learning. In addition to the vast number of books on every conceivable subject, the place was filled with scholars quietly discussing shared interests, or locked in vehement dispute over some point.

He sat down on the steps of the Temple of Timon at the end of the breakwater. From there he had a good view of the fleet assembling in the royal harbour. In addition to a squadron of warships, Petronius had provided four light scouting ships of the same class that Cato and Macro had served aboard when they had been seconded to the fleet at Ravenna some years earlier. Besides these, there were eight large cargo ships to carry the horses and equipment allocated to the force. Counting the marine contingents aboard the warships, the legate had assigned nearly five thousand men to the force being sent to the aid of his old friend Senator Sempronius.

The decision of who to appoint as commander of the force had proved to be a delicate matter. In addition to the experienced officers commanding the legionary cohorts, as well as the auxiliary units, Petronius had a number of military tribunes on his staff who claimed the command for themselves. Cato had reminded the legate that Sempronius would be making his own decision with respect to appointing a commander of the relief force when it reached Crete.

Moreover, he had asked that Cato himself be the commander of the forces while they were en route to the province. In the end Petronius had appointed the senior centurion of the Twenty-Second to the post, until they arrived at Gortyna. Decius Fulvius was a scarred, bald veteran with the build of a boxer, who could bellow like a bull. Cato was impressed by his competence and aura of authority, and accepted the legate's decision.

Even though the commander had been appointed and the ships were ready, the auxiliary units were still on the march and would not reach the city for another day, Cato had been informed. The prefects, long used to the comfortable garrison duties of Egypt, had proved reluctant to be sent on campaign and had made every excuse to delay their departure, until the legate had threatened to replace them on his own authority and report the matter to the emperor. That had done the trick and the two cohorts had set off at once.

It had been several days since he had arrived in Alexandria, Cato reflected in a depressed mood as he found some shade on the steps of the temple and gazed out to sea. Some where out there lay the island of Crete, where his friends were in danger. They needed him and he was stuck here in Alexandria, dragging his heels until the relief force was ready to set sail. He thought longingly of Julia, and for a moment he closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sea breeze, letting it caress his skin as she was wont to do so lightly with her fingertips that it made his body tremble at the sensation. He could not wait to be in her arms again, to hold her body against his and kiss her.

Abruptly he stopped himself pursuing that line of thought. The consequences would be embarrassing in such a public space, and the agony of her absence would only depress him further and make him more anxious over having to wait for the fleet to set sail from Alexandria. As he opened his eyes, he felt the wind strengthen, and the awning over a nearby fish stall billowed up and snapped taut. The stallkeeper was already looking anxiously to the west as he began to pack his goods away into baskets to carry back down the breakwater into the city. Cato rose from the steps and walked round to the far side of the temple. The sky beyond the Heptastadion was dark and cloudy and the swell in the harbour was more noticeable. A storm was coming, blowing in from the west.

For a moment Cato watched the horizon, won de ring if he should return to the quarters the legate had provided for him in the palace that had once been the home of the Ptolemaic pharaohs. There he would be forced to endure the empty conversation and mindless entertainments of Petronius's bored staff officers as the storm broke outside. The thought soured him, and he resolved to stay and watch.

A fresh blast of wind buffeted him and he turned to see that the storm was almost upon him. Great waves were crashing against the foot of the lighthouse across the bay and bursting in massive clouds of spray swept on by the rising wind. Out to sea, a grey curtain of rain was sweeping towards the coast beneath dark clouds that smeared the sky along the horizon.

The rain began in earnest, stinging his face, and Cato could not help shivering slightly in the cold wind moaning around the temple.

All at once there was a dazzling flash of light and a moment later the muffled metallic crash of thunder, as the storm struck the port. A cargo ship, a mile out, was battling to reach the harbour, almost all the sail reefed in as her bows burst through one wave after another.

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.'