The Gladiator

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Cato gave orders for the camp to be constructed on the high ground overlooking Olous as the column completed the fourth day's march. The auxiliaries advanced a short way down the slope to form a protective screen while the legionaries set down their marching yokes, took up their pickaxes and shovels and began to dig into the stony ground. It was hot and the work was back-breaking after a hard day's march, but it was part of the daily routine while on campaign, and aside from the usual grumbling the men carried out their work efficiently. By the time the sun had set behind the hills to the west, a ditch surrounded the camp, within which a rampart and palisade provided adequate defence against any attempt at a surprise attack.

Once the camp was ready, the auxiliaries were called in and the column settled down for the night. There was no moon in the sky, and though the stars shone brilliantly, the landscape was wreathed in darkness. Mindful of the enemy's willingness to take the initiative, Cato doubled the watch and had a full cohort stand to along the palisade and keep watch over the approaches to the camp. Accompanied by Fulvius, he made an inspection of the defences before the two of them returned to the headquarters tents in the heart of the camp, occupying a small mound overlooking the ramparts and on towards the enemy. The fires of the rebels glittered in a huge arc around the dark waters of the bay, dwarfing the neat lines of the Roman camp. Out at sea, three lamps glimmered where the warships lay hove to, keeping watch on the entrance to the bay. The rest of the fleet was beached in a cove some miles to the north, and Cato had sent for the navarch in command of the ships to come and report to him the next day.

'The buggers aren't short of men,' Fulvius muttered as he surveyed the enemy.

Cato shrugged.' Numbers aren't everything. We have better men and the better position. If they attack, they'll have to do it uphill, and they'll have to get over the ditch and the palisade. Our men can deal with any of them that get close enough to come to blows.'

'I hope you're right, sir,' Fulvius muttered. 'So what happens now?

Looks like something of a stand-off. We can beat off their attacks, but we might not have sufficient men to take their camp.'

'The situation is to our advantage. We're camped across the only road out of Olous to the rest of the island. The navy blocks access to the sea, so we have them trapped. The main problem for us will be keeping supplied with food and water. We have enough for five more days before I have to send a detachment back to Gortyna with the wagons for more rations. Of course, that's not a problem for the rebels now that they have their hands on the grain fleet. They could live off that for months. With the streams that run off the hills, they won't be short of water either. However, the reality is that it is their turn to be under siege.'

Fulvius seemed doubtful, and gestured to the hills surrounding the bay. 'If they wanted to get away, they could slip over these hills easily enough.'

'If they wanted to get away. But they don't. They have their carts and wagons with them, weighed down by loot, and then there's the grain fleet. That is their one chance to cut a deal with Rome. And that's why Ajax won't abandon those ships.' Cato paused and looked over to where a line of torches marked the palisade that had been erected to protect the beached ships.' The trick of it will be in finding a way of separating the rebels from the ships. We have to act soon. The grain fleet has already been delayed. Before long the stocks in the imperial warehouses are going to be exhausted, and Rome will starve. If we can't rescue those ships in time…'

Cato turned away and strode towards his tent. Fulvius scratched his cheek for a moment and then followed his superior. Inside the tent, Cato had unfastened the clasp of his cloak and flung it over towards his bedroll. There were few of the usual refinements of a senior officer in the tent, since there had been no time to arrange for any at Gortyna. Comfort had been the last thing on his mind when Cato set off in pursuit of the rebels, and so there was only a small campaign table and a handful of chests containing the column's pay records, strength returns and spare waxed slates. He yawned as he unfastened the buckles of his harness and drew it, and then the chainmail vest, over his head. He let them drop heavily by the bedroll. The march in the hot sun, and his exhaustion, had left him with a headache, and he declined the wine that Fulvius offered him from a jug that had been left out by one of the headquarters servants.

Fulvius shrugged, and filled a goblet almost to the brim before he eased himself down on to a chest with a sigh. 'So then, what do we do now?'

'Nothing we can do tonight. Tomorrow we'll scout the enemy camp and see if there are any weak points that we might attack.'

'You are thinking of an attack then?' Fulvius probed.

'I don't see what else I can do. Some of the grain ships will no doubt be lost during the fight, but we have to rescue what we can and hope that it is enough to keep Rome going until another fleet can be gathered to fetch more grain from Egypt. It'll be a bloody business if we have to attack, and if anything goes wrong, if the men break, then we'll be cut to pieces.'

'The lads of the Twenty-Second won't let you down, sir. They'll fight well, and if the attack fails then they'll keep formation when we fall back.'

'I hope you are right,' Cato replied wearily.' Now then, that's all for tonight. I'm turning in.'

Fulvius drained his cup and stood up. 'I'll have one last turn round the camp, sir. So I can sleep easy'

'Very well.' Cato nodded. Once the centurion had left the tent, he took off his boots, extinguished the oil lamp and lay down on the bedroll. Even though it was a hot night, there was a gentle breeze blowing, enough to cool Cato's brow and make it worth keeping his tunic on. His head felt thick with exhaustion, and it was a struggle to think clearly as he lay and stared up at the goatskin tent overhead.

The moment he tried to settle into a comfortable position to sleep, his mind filled with images of Julia and Macro. If they were still alive, they were not more than a mile or two from where he lay. It had taken every fibre of his self-control to hide his feelings from Fulvius and the other men under his command. Inside, his heart felt like a lump of lead, weighing his body down. The worst moments came when his imagination thrust images of their torment to the front of his mind, making him feel sick with helplessness and despair until he forced such thoughts aside and concentrated his mind elsewhere.

He lay on his mattress, turning frequently, and ended up curled in a ball on his side before his weary body and exhausted mind finally succumbed to sleep.

Cato was woken by the blare of a buccina sounding the change of watch. He blinked his eyes open and winced at the stiffness in his back. Sunlight slanted through the open flaps of the tent and he instantly scrambled to his feet, furious that he had not been roused.

He pulled on his boots and laced them up before hurrying out of the tent. Before him lay the camp, the men calmly going about their morning duties as they cleaned their mess tins and packed them away in their kit sacks before making ready their armour and weapons for morning inspection. Centurion Fulvius was sitting at a table in front of one of the other tents, writing notes on a wax tablet. He stood up and saluted as Cato came striding across to him with an icy expression.

'Why was I not woken at the end of the night watch?'

'There was no need, sir.' Fulvius affected a surprised look.' The watch officers had nothing to report and there's been no sign of any movement down at the rebel camp. I was just about to complete the orders for the morning cavalry patrols before I came to wake you.'

Cato lowered his voice so that only Fulvius would hear. 'You know damn well that the senior officer should be woken at first light.'

'I had no orders to that effect, sir.'

'Damn orders, it's customary. Even when a unit is on garrison duties. On campaign there's never any question about it.', Fulvius did not respond, thereby intimating his guilt. Cato glared at him for a moment, and then snorted with derision. 'Tell me, when was the last time you served on a campaign?'

'It's been a while, sir,' Fulvius admitted. 'In my previous legion, on the Danube.'

'How long ago?'

The centurion's gaze wavered. 'Twelve years, sir.'

'And since then you have served in Egypt: garrison duty. Little to keep you occupied but spit and polish and the odd field exercise, eh?'

'Keeps the lads on their toes, sir.'

'I don't doubt it.' Cato recalled the endless drills and route marches of his earliest months in the Second Legion. It was not the readiness of the men he questioned. 'So, having ducked out of the fighting for the last twelve years, you think you are better qualified to lead these men than I am. Is that it?'

'Something like that.' Fulvius was still for a moment and pursed his lips. 'Permission to speak freely, sir?'

'No. Centurion, I am the commander of this column and that fact ends any discussion on this matter. If you question my authority, or undermine established procedures again, I will have you removed from your position and sent back to Gortyna. Is that understood?'

'Yes, sir,' Fulvius replied sourly.

'I will not warn you again,' Cato growled through clenched teeth.

'Now get out of my sight. I want you to do a spot inspection of the first three legionary cohorts, and report back to me once you've done. Go.'

Cato saw a glimmer of anxiety in the veteran's eyes. Then he stood at attention, saluted and strode off to carry out his orders. Cato shook his head, then turned and marched back to his tent, barking at one of the orderlies to bring him some bread, meat and watered wine for breakfast. As he sat and stared down towards the rebel camp, he considered the stand-off once again. Ajax had the grain fleet, and therefore no need to attack the Romans, while Cato risked the loss of the grain fleet if he attacked, as well as having the added concern of commanding toofew men to guarantee victory. Yet time was on the rebels' side, and there was no avoiding the conclusion that Cato would have to attack, whatever the odds.

As he was dipping the last hunk of bread into the bowl of wine, he noticed a movement down at the enemy camp. A small column of riders had emerged from the sprawl of tents and haze of smoke from the camp fires. They passed through their picket line and continued steadily up the slope towards the Roman camp. Cato soon lost sight of them behind the rampart and left the table to fetch his mail vest, helmet and sword belt from the tent, before making his way down to the rampart facing the rebel camp. By the time he reached the rampart the duty centurion had ordered his men to stand to. A cohort of legionaries were spreading out along the beaten earth of the walkway to face the approaching horsemen. Cato glanced at them as he climbed the ladder on to the platform constructed over the timber gates. Fulvius was already there and nodded a greeting to Cato as the latter joined him.

'Looks like the rebels want to talk,' said Fulvius.

Cato saw that there were ten of them, wearing good tunics, scale armour and Roman pattern swords — the spoils of Centurion Marcellus's column. One man carried a long standard with a bright blue pennant, which he waved steadily from side to side as he and his companions walked the mounts forward.

'Nice to see them observing the appropriate formalities,' Fulvius muttered. 'Just like a proper army, eh, sir?'

'Well, they certainly look the part, in our kit.'

'Our kit?' Fulvius's expression darkened.' Oh, yes…Want me to order some of our boys to loose some slingshot in their direction?'

'No,' Cato replied firmly. 'I don't want them touched. The rebels have hostages.'

Fulvius shrugged. 'Assuming they're still alive, sir.'

'They're alive.'

The riders stopped fifty paces from the gate, and then one edged his horse a little closer. Cato saw that he had the dark features of the east, and he wore a curved sword at his side.

Fulvius cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed,'Stop there!'

The rider reined in obediently.

'What do you want?'

'My general wishes to talk with your commander. Here, in the open.'

'Why? Tell us what he wants and go!'

The rider shook his head. 'That is for my general to say'

'Bollocks to him,' Fulvius muttered and drew a deep breath to shout his answer.

'Wait!' said Cato. He turned to Fulvius. 'Keep the men on the rampart, but have a cavalry squadron brought up to the gate, mounted and ready to charge. If I raise my left hand, send them out at once. But only if I give the signal. Is that clear?'

'You're not going out there?' Fulvius arched an eyebrow. 'For fuck's sake, sir. It's a trap. They'll get you out there and cut you down before turning tail and running.'

'Why would they do that?'

'To undermine the column, sir. Take out the commander and it's bound to hit morale, and disrupt the campaign.'

'If it is a trap and they kill me, that makes you the new commander.' Cato looked at him steadily. 'Are you saying you're not up to the job? I thought you wanted it. Maybe this is your chance.'

Centurion Fulvius had the good grace to let a look of shame flit across his features before he composed himself and shook his head.

'Not this way, sir. You watch yourself out there, understand?'

Cato smiled to himself as he turned away and climbed down from the tower. At the bottom he turned to the section of legionaries manning the gate.' Open it up, but be ready to close it quickly if you get the order.'

As the men removed the locking bar and hauled the gate inwards, Fulvius called to one of his officers and gave them orders to have one of the mounted squadrons called to the gate as swiftly as possible.

Cato puffed his cheeks and marched out of the camp, between the two ditches on either side, and on to the clear ground. Ahead of him the horsemen watched in silence. When he reached a point halfway between the gate and the waiting rebels, Cato stopped and called out to the man who had spoken for them.

'I am Tribune Cato, commander of the Roman column and the Roman fleet. Where is your general?'

There was a sudden movement from the rear of the group of horsemen as a rider spurred his horse forward and galloped it up the gentle slope. Cato sucked in a deep breath and his muscles tensed, ready for action. He let his hand drop towards the handle of his sword, where it hovered for an instant before he willed it to settle by his thigh. Straightening his back, he stood his ground and stared defiantly at the approaching horseman. At the last moment the rider reined in, less than ten feet from Cato, showering him with grit. The sun was behind the rebel and Cato had to squint and then raise a hand to shield his eyes. For a moment not a word was spoken, then the rebel gave a soft, menacing chuckle.

'The gods are kind to me, Roman. So kind.'

'Ajax?' Cato felt his heartbeat quicken.

'Of course. You remember me then?'

'Yes.'

'And you remember what you did to my father, before you had me sold into slavery?'

'I recall that we executed the leader of a gang of pirates.'

'We?'

Cato froze as he realised his mistake. Macro was in enough danger already, if he was still alive. He cleared his throat.' The Ravenna fleet was charged with destroying the pirate threat.'

'It's funny, I seem to recall things being a little bit more personal than that. You see, I recall — very, very clearly — the names and faces of the two officers in charge of my father's execution, and they were there again when I was led away into slavery with survivors of my father's fleet. You were one of those men. The other I have already had the great pleasure to encounter once again.'

Cato felt his throat tighten and he concentrated on the man in front of him, fighting to control his expression. 'I take it your hostages are still alive.'

'They are. For the present.'

'Get down off your horse,' Cato ordered. 'I do not care to speak to you with the sun in my eyes.'

'Very well, Roman.' Ajax swung his leg over the horse's back and dropped to the ground close to Cato, but Cato did not flinch. Out of the glare of the sun, he could now see the man clearly. Ajax wore a simple tunic, plain boots and a sword belt slung across his shoulder.

Tall, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, he was young, but his features were more lined and scarred than the face Cato dimly recalled from years earlier. There was something about the eyes, too.

They were watchful and far-seeing, and Cato guessed that his time in the arena meant that Ajax was a man who missed nothing and was capable of reacting to any threat in an instant.

'More comfortable?' Ajax sneered.

'You wanted to talk to me,' Cato responded flatly. 'So talk.'

'I'll get to the point when I am good and ready. Before then, I am curious to know what you think of our little situation. It is not without dramatic interest, wouldn't you agree?'

'I am not interested in your games, slave. Just speak your piece and go-'

'Slave?' Ajax frowned briefly.' Not any more. Not when your emperor concedes to my demands.'

'State your demands then, before you bore me any further.' Cato slowly folded his arms, loosely, with his left hand on top in case he needed to signal his men.

'I will, but first, tell me how it feels to be responsible for all of this.'

Ajax gestured at the two armies. 'All the bloodshed during this rebellion. Surely you cannot sleep easily with all this on your conscience.'

Cato did not reply at once, then spoke with deliberate emphasis.

'This is your doing, Ajax. The retribution that Rome will visit on your followers will be your responsibility, not mine. If you surrender now, and give up your hostages, I give you my word that I will plead the case for leniency to be shown to your followers.'

'While I go the same way as my father?'

'Of course. How could it be otherwise? After all that you have done.'

'You are too generous.' Ajax laughed drily. 'You should take some of the credit.'

'Really?'

'Oh yes. You see, every day since you and your friend made me a slave, I have vowed to have my revenge. If I am honest, I never really expected to have the chance, but it kept me alive and kept my wits keen when so many others might have died in the arena. So, I have you to thank for that. You…' He pointed his finger at Cato's chest.

'It was you who made this rebellion possible, and you who will be the cause of Rome's humiliation. And,' Ajax's eyes flashed with inspiration and he smiled, 'and yes! It is you who will be the cause of your own greatest torment. But I am getting ahead of myself.' He paused and then pulled a red strip of cloth from inside his tunic. 'I have decided to give you a demonstration, Roman. To prove that I am serious, and to discourage you from any rash course of action.' He turned and pointed to the beached ships. 'You see that one on the end, apart from the others?'

Cato looked, and nodded.

'Good. Then watch.' Ajax extended his arm and waved the strip of red cloth slowly from side to side as it rippled gently in the light breeze. There was an answering signal from the deck of the grain ship, and moments later Cato saw a tiny glitter and a thin trail of smoke. The spark quickly spread as a handful of men scrambled from the bows on to the sand. A tongue of flame shot up from the main cargo hatch and within moments the ship was ablaze and a cloud of smoke billowed over the decks. Ajax turned back towards Cato.

'There. Every one of the remaining ships is ready to be fired the moment I give the signal. You had better bear that in mind in case you are thinking of making a surprise attack to seize the grain fleet.

Now then, on to my demands.' Ajax raised his hands and counted them off.' One, you send word to your governor that he is to issue a proclamation, in the name of Emperor Claudius and the senate, declaring that all slaves on the island of Crete are to be set free at once. Before you protest, I know that he has the authority to do this.

Whether Rome ratifies it or not is not my concern. By then, my followers and I will be long gone. If the governor is not here with the proclamation in his hands five days from now, I will start destroying all of the ships. Two, after we have the proclamation, signed, sealed and delivered by the governor in person, you will allow my followers and me to board the ships and sail unhindered from this bay. Once we have decided on a safe place to land we will hand the ships over to you.'

'What's to stop you burning the ships after you have reached wherever it is that you intend to sail to?'

'Nothing.' Ajax smiled. 'You'll have to trust me.'

'Trust you?'

'You have no choice. And there's one other thing.' Ajax looked straight into Cato's eyes, and his lips parted in an icy grin. 'I imagine that you are won de ring about the fate of the hostages… your friends?'

'Why should I?' Cato replied evenly. 'They are as good as dead already'

'Your face betrays you. I think they mean far more to you than you would ever admit. If not, then the last demand I shall give you will be the easiest to comply with. Three, I will send a man back here tomorrow, at dawn. You will give him your response to this question.'

Ajax paused, savouring the moment. 'I want you to choose who I will let live, Centurion Macro, or Julia Sempronia. It is your choice, Tribune Cato. You will tell my man who is to live and who is to die when he comes. If you fail to give him an answer, then I will have them both put to death, in full view of your camp, and I give you my word that their deaths will be long and painful.'

An icy dread filled Cato's body. He could not think, could not utter a response. So he stood and stared.

Ajax read his reaction well and nodded with satisfaction. 'Until tomorrow then, Tribune.'

He remounted his horse and spurred it back towards his followers, and then led them back down the hill at a gallop. Cato stood still and watched them, tracking the small band as it wound through the rebel camp, around the end of the bay towards a small hillock on the peninsula stretching into the sea. Only then did he turn and walk slowly back towards the gates of the Roman camp.