The Legion

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Cato waited until the last of the officers had settled down on the benches set out in the courtyard of the priests' quarters. Macro stood a short distance to Cato's right, erect, boots apart, solid as a bull. The officers watched Cato expectantly, then he stood up and cleared his throat.

'Acting Legate Aurelius died of his injuries just after midday. I had already assumed command since he was incapacitated, attested to by the legion's surgeon. However, that is all academic now. As your new commander I have already given fresh orders for the prosecution of the campaign against the Nubians. There will be no division of the army. All forces will concentrate here, at Diospolis Magna, and then the army will march on the Nubians and give battle at the earliest opportunity.' Cato looked round at the officers. 'Any questions, gentlemen?'

The brevity of his address left most of his officers surprised. It took a moment before one of the older centurions, whom Cato recognised as being amongst the cronies of the late Aurelius, stood up. Centurion Aescher stared coolly at Cato and then gave him an insincere smile.

'Sir, I think I speak for most here when I say that the loss of the acting legate is keenly felt. It comes as a hard blow on top of the death of the previous legate and the discovery of the spy that you unwittingly brought into our camp.'

Cato tried not to register his surprise and annoyance that word of Hamedes' treachery had spread through the legion already. The officer continued.

'One might be forgiven for thinking the Jackals have been cursed. Both previous commanders were men of immense experience in the service. Both knew the legion and its men well. Therefore, sir, you will understand me when I say that it is in the best interests of the legion, this army and Rome if we send a request to the governor in Alexandria to appoint a new, permanent, commander of the legion. It is in no way a judgement on your competence, sir. Rather, it is a reflection of the troubled state of the men's morale. They would prefer to be led by a man with the requisite experience and seniority,' the centurion concluded and resumed his seat.

'Thank you,' said Cato. 'Is there anyone else who wishes to speak?'

He looked round, but the officers kept their silence as they waited for him to respond to the centurion's remarks. Cato nodded. 'Very well, then. Your comments are noted. Now, hear my words.' Cato stared round the room. 'There will be no request. There is no time to refer the matter to the governor. I have assumed command legally and I will not tolerate any attempt to question my authority. The situation is too serious for playing games, gentlemen. The province is in great danger. We must deal with the threat swiftly and decisively. You may make all the protests you like once the Nubians have been defeated.'

The centurion rose again. 'Sir, might I ask what was wrong with the original plan? Legate Aurelius-'

'Acting Legate Aurelius,' Macro interrupted. 'Rather, Former Acting Legate Aurelius.'

The centurion shot Macro a hostile look before he continued. 'The previous commander's plan seemed sound enough to me. Your plan seems to be rather less subtle and far less likely to result in the trapping and destruction of the Nubians… sir.'

'Really?' Cato responded flatly. 'Forgive me, but I thought it was a common maxim of military strategy not to divide a weaker force in the face of a stronger one. Or do you do things differently here in Egypt?'

The sarcastic note of the last comment was not lost on the centurion and his companions. Cato ignored the brief chorus of mutters and continued. 'Aurelius's plan would have led to disaster. Our forces would each be defeated in turn and then Prince Talmis would be free to rampage across the province until such time as the Emperor could assemble an army large enough to drive the Nubians out. Meanwhile, the damage to wheat production and the destruction of the cities along the Nile would take many years to recover from. The same fate would await Egypt if we just sit on our arses and wait for a new commander to be sent to us. The only course of action that stands any chance of saving the army and the province is to strike at the enemy at once, with every man we can scrape together.' Cato paused and looked over the faces of the officers, men he needed to make his own if he was to have any chance of success. He moderated his tone when he spoke again.

'I do not need to explain myself to you, gentlemen. I have acted within the regulations laid down by the imperial army bureau, in the name of Emperor Claudius. That should suffice under normal conditions. I accept that our situation is somewhat irregular, but then when is war ever a neat and tidy affair? Until recent days the Twenty-Second Legion has been a garrison unit. The only action many of you and your men have seen is a minor skirmish as part of some police action or some punitive raid against brigands. Frankly, compared to the other legions that Centurion Macro and I have had the honour of serving with, the Jackals are second-rate. To be sure, the men are trained and exercised according to regulations, but they lack combat experience. That is the only true test of a soldier's value. It is a hard-won attribute. Now, some of the men have had the chance to prove themselves in the assault on the temple and they did well enough, but most of the men, and officers, are still to be tested. Including you, Centurion Aescher. I do not say this out of any desire to undermine you, but as a statement of fact. The other fact that cannot be disputed is that both Centurion Macro and I have had considerable campaign and battle experience. If anything, you should feel reassured that we will be leading you into battle. I cannot think of a more courageous example than Centurion Macro to inspire the men who follow him.'

Macro stirred uneasily at his friend's words then fixed his face in a stern expression and stood stock still.

'The Jackals have the potential to be fine soldiers,' Cato continued. 'And our victory over the Nubians will give them a chance to win a battle honour for their eagle standard. But I will not lie to you about the scale of the challenge facing us. You must understand, and get your men to understand, that there are only two paths ahead of us when we march out to face the enemy – one leads to victory, the other to certain death. Now that I and Centurion Macro are in command, your chances have improved. The rest is up to you. Forget the past. Forget your plans for the future. Think only of killing your enemy. That is all that matters. It's a simple enough philosophy, gentlemen, and it has worked well enough for Centurion Macro and me over the years we have served together. Isn't that so?'

'Yes, sir!' Macro nodded.

Cato took a deep breath and looked round at his officers, seeing some spark of determination in their expressions. That was good, he reflected. Some of his words had struck home. He had done what he could to instil the right state of mind in his officers and stiffen their resolve in the face of the great test to come. 'The army marches from Karnak at first light tomorrow. You have the rest of the day to prepare your men, equipment and supplies. Dismissed!'

The officers stood up and began to make their way out of the courtyard, many of them conversing in low voices. Macro stood still until the last of them had left and then let his shoulders droop a little as he exhaled in a long, weary sigh.

'What do you think?' asked Cato.

'Oh, you were on fine form, lad. I have to say that I've heard the victory or death routine more than once before. So have you. It's an old line but, so help me, it still stirs the blood.'

'Hmmm. I meant what do you think about our officers?'

Macro jerked his thumb towards the entrance to the courtyard. 'That lot? Not the best I've ever come across, and possibly not the worst.'

'That doesn't sound very encouraging.'

'Oh, they'll fight when the time comes.' Macro shrugged nonchalantly. 'After all, what choice have they got?'

'None, as it happens. I had the report from one of the patrols just before the briefing began. The Nubian army is still camped a day's march to the south. It has been for the last two days. It seems that Prince Talmis is challenging us to come out and face him.'

'Or we could wait for him here and hold him off.'

'No. If we do that, he'll surround us, bide his time and starve us into surrender. Either way, he has the advantage.'

Macro looked at his younger friend and could see the exhaustion marked in his face, and the bloodshot eyes. Cato had removed the sling before the officers had arrived and now supported his left arm with his spare hand. Macro felt a stab of paternal concern for Cato. 'Look here, there's nothing to be done now. The officers will make the preparations and I'll keep watch over them to make sure they do a good job. You should rest. Let that arm recover. We're going to need you in good shape tomorrow. Can't afford to have tiredness cloud your thinking. Not with all our lives at stake.'

Cato stared at him and smiled. 'Thank you. If there's time, I'll rest. But first I have to think about how we're going to win this campaign. Fine words are one thing, but they never won a battle. And after that business with Hamedes I can understand why they might question my judgement.'

'Bollocks. Hamedes was a spy. Spies are supposed to be good at winning trust. In any case, he didn't fool you in the end. You saw through him, and put a stop to his treachery,' Macro concluded bitterly.

Cato looked at him and saw that his friend was struggling to hide his true feelings. 'His betrayal hit you hard, didn't it?'

'Yes… I liked the lad. I thought he showed real guts in going into that valley to find Ajax's lair. Now I know it was all a sham. That bastard fooled me good and proper.'

Cato felt the need to offer his friend some crumb of comfort. 'For what it's worth, I think he admired you, despite being your enemy.'

'Even if that's true, what does it matter? Hamedes was Ajax's man. If I'd known, then I'd have killed him with my bare hands, without hesitation. I feel a bit of a fool, Cato. That's all there is to it. Good riddance.'

'Yes, of course.' Cato nodded, and knew it would be best to drop the subject. 'Macro, I need your help. I fear that we're in for the hardest battle we have ever fought.'

The first rays of the rising sun were angling across the low hills to the east as the Romans marched out of the camp at Karnak. The auxiliary cavalry led the way, its squadrons stretched out across the army to screen its advance. The main column was led by an auxiliary infantry cohort. Then came the legionaries, weighted down by their armour and the kit fixed to their marching yokes. Their helmets hung from brass hooks on their belts and the men wore light cotton headscarves to shield them from the glare of the coming day, and soak up the sweat from their scalps.

Long shadows were cast across the dust kicked up by preceding columns and from a short distance away, where Cato and Macro rode at the head of the small group of staff officers, the men appeared as dim figures amid the orange haze of dust. Behind the legion came the baggage train, together with the carts carrying the legion's complement of bolt throwers. There were rations for seven days and if the Nubians chose to fall back for any reason, Cato knew that he could only afford to pursue them a short distance. Prince Talmis would be certain to strip the land of supplies ahead of the Romans.

Tribune Junius edged his mount forward until it drew alongside the new commander of the army. He was silent for a moment and then coughed.

'What is it, Tribune?' asked Cato.

'Sir, I was wondering what your plans are for the coming battle.'

'To defeat the enemy.'

'Yes, of course, sir. Goes without saying.'

Macro turned to look at the tribune with a wry expression. 'So what more is there to say?'

Junius was not prepared to give in so easily and continued to address Cato. 'With respect, sir, I am now the senior tribune of the legion. In the event that anything happens to you and Centurion Macro, then the command will fall to me. I should know your intentions, sir. For the good of the army.'

Cato appraised him. It could only have been a few months since Junius was appointed a junior tribune and he was already bearing far greater responsibilities than his peers in other legions across the Empire. Such were the exigencies of war, Cato mused. It was true that Junius was third in the chain of command, in theory, yet although the centurions had accepted his own assumption of the legate's role, Cato doubted they would tolerate having to obey this callow youth, who had as much military experience as a raw recruit. Cato shook his head.

'You'll know my intentions in good time, Tribune. As for the prospect of having the command of the army foisted on you, I advise you to be careful what you wish for. You know how the saying goes?'

'Yes, sir. But I need to be ready, if misfortune should strike you and Macro.'

'Misfortune? That's a nice euphemism.' Cato chuckled drily. 'Learn the trade as fully as you can, Junius. Listen to the veterans and profit from their experience. Then you can think about command. For now, this is on-the-job training for you. That's all. You are not ready. If I fall, Macro takes over. If he falls, then it must be another man, not you. Despite regulations.'

'Oh…' A look of bitter disappointment clouded the tribune's face. 'I only want to serve Rome, sir. As devoutly as I can.'

'Devoutly?' Macro chuckled. 'This is the army, lad, not a religious cult. There's far more to it than rituals, ceremonies and mumbo-jumbo. We don't play at what we do. It's life and death for us and that means we have to be sure that the men are commanded by those who know what they're doing. See?'

Junius glared at Macro for a moment and then swallowed and nodded. With a curt nod of the head to his two superiors he halted his horse and fell back amongst the rest of the party of horsemen.

'Keen, isn't he?' Cato smiled. 'Reminds me of myself when I joined up.'

'Oh no, you were much more of a drip than him.'

Cato's eyes narrowed. 'Drip?'

'Come on, you know you were. Thin streak of piss, and clumsy with it. Yet you ponced in and thought you could command men in the field just because you'd read up on military history.' Macro smiled fondly at the memory. 'The army was the making of you, and you know it.'

Cato glanced round to make sure that the other officers were out of earshot of this rather frank appraisal of his early days in the service of Rome, and then turned back to Macro.

'It is true I might not have been ideal material for the Second Legion… but I learned quickly enough. Of course, I was lucky to have a fine mentor.'

'True,' Macro agreed, dispensing with false modesty.

Cato jerked his head back towards the others. 'Given time Junius will work out as well as I did. Better, in fact, given his senatorial background. Perhaps we should be careful how we speak to him,' Cato mused. 'One day he is sure to outrank us and then he might not be forgiving for past slights.'

'If today's little exchange still weighs on his mind years from now then, frankly, he doesn't deserve to rise to senior rank. I've seen generals come and go, Cato, and the small-minded ones never lasted long in post. That's one of the advantages of having an Emperor, I guess.' Macro scratched his ear. 'Claudius can dismiss any man who's not up to the job. He can afford to choose the best. The Emperor doesn't have to worry about appeasing political factions and dancing to their tune all the time.'

'Now who's being green?' Cato laughed. 'You really think emperors are above politics? Why do you think the biggest armies are always entrusted to close relatives of the imperial family? And why do emperors watch their other generals like hawks? That's why we were sent out to the eastern Empire in the first place, to keep an eye on Governor Longinus in Syria. Politics doesn't stop at the camp gate. Emperor Claudius knows that better than most of his predecessors. The army handed him the throne and he's rewarded them with handsome donatives ever since to make sure they know he hasn't forgotten it. Politics…' Cato sighed. 'It's what we must wade through all our lives.'

'Like a sewer, then,' Macro concluded with a grin, and Cato responded in kind. They rode on in silence for a moment before Cato spoke again.

'Junius will turn out all right, I think.'

'I hope so.'

'You doubt him?'

Macro pursed his lips briefly. 'I don't know. He's just a little too keen to please. He's trying too hard to prove himself. That can be dangerous – to him, and the men he may command one day.'

'Assuming he lives long enough,' Cato replied quietly. 'Surviving the next few days may well prove something of a challenge.'

The army halted an hour before noon and the men fell out and set down their packs before seeking whatever shade they could find. Those without had to make do with shelters made from their cloaks propped up on the end of their javelins. The men rested through the hottest part of the day while the ground around them baked.

Cato and his officers were resting in the shade of a plantation of date palms when a lone cavalryman came galloping down the road into the column, leaving a fine haze of dust in his wake. The few soldiers still on the road backed away and then watched him briefly, wondering what his hurry could signify. The rider reined in and slipped off the back of his horse and ran up to the optio in command of the headquarters guard to make his report. The optio waved him through and a moment later he stood stiffly in front of Cato, chest heaving from his exertions.

'Beg to report, sir, the Nubian army has been sighted.'

The other officers stirred and rose to their feet as Cato asked, 'Where?'

The cavalryman quickly estimated. 'Just over eight miles from here, sir.'

'Are they on the march?'

'Yes, sir. The Nubians are advancing towards us.'

'Eight miles?' Macro muttered. 'Close enough if you intend to give battle today, sir.'

'Not today.' Cato looked round at the landscape. A short distance beyond the date palms stretched an expanse of arable land, less than a mile in width from the river to a line of barren hills stretching off into the desert. He pointed it out to Macro and the others. 'That is where we'll make our stand. The ground is pliable enough to make a marching camp. Macro, give the orders at once. I want our men behind field defences before the Nubians arrive.'

'Yes, sir.' Macro saluted and trotted off to find the senior surveyor and his assistants. Shortly after, they galloped off, trailing a string of mules laden with marking posts and surveying kit.

Cato watched them briefly and then turned to his staff officers. 'Get the men back on their feet. I want them ready to make camp the moment Macro's men have marked the perimeter.'

The haze smearing the horizon between the river and the desert marked the approach of the Nubian host long before the first of its men came in sight of the Roman camp. The legionaries were still constructing the palisade and the watchtowers as the first Nubian patrols appeared, small groups of men mounted on camels who stopped short of the Roman picquets and waited for the rest of the army to catch up. As the sun dipped towards the western horizon, it bathed the landscape in a lurid red, and picked out the armour, weapons and banners of the enemy glinting at the base of the dust cloud that slowly advanced towards the Roman position. The soldiers doubled their efforts to complete the defences in time. In addition to the ditch and rampart, they had dug lines of small pits with angled wooden stakes at the bottom in front of the camp. At each corner of the wall a platform of palm logs packed down with earth had been raised to serve as mounts for the bolt throwers.

When the main defences were completed, Cato gave the order for the patrols to pull back and the auxiliary cavalrymen turned away from the enemy and rode back into the camp, and then the gates were sealed. The army was formed up, in case Prince Talmis decided to attack as soon as he reached the Roman defences. The men and their officers stood and waited as the enemy host came on. The main Nubian column began to divide into three and soon the breadth of land between the Nile and the hills presented an unbroken line of enemy infantry, interspersed with columns of mounted warriors, on horses and camels.

As he stood in one of the watchtowers, Cato sensed the anxiety in his soldiers watching from the palisade. The men of the Twenty-Second and the auxiliaries had never faced such a threat before and few of them had ever fought in a battle. He just hoped that their training and discipline would be enough to ensure that they stood their ground when the time came to face the Nubians in battle.

'An impressive sight,' said Macro, at his side. 'But numbers aren't everything, eh?'

Cato did not reply as he scrutinised the dense ranks of the enemy. For the most part they appeared to be lightly armed, but there were several formations of soldiers who marched well and carried large oval shields and were equipped with an assortment of helmets and armour. There were also large formations of men carrying bundles of javelins. Few of the Nubians seemed to be armed with bows and Cato took some small comfort from that. There was a distant blare of horns and the Nubian army halted. Above them the haze slowly wafted to one side on the evening breeze blowing across the Nile.

'What do you think they'll do now, sir?' asked Junius. 'Will they attack?'

'I doubt it, Tribune,' Cato replied. 'We're in a strong position and any attack would cost Prince Talmis dearly. Despite their number, few of his men are trained soldiers. If his first assault fails, and he suffers heavy casualties, it will hit the spirits of his men hard.'

Macro pointed. 'There. We'll know what the Nubians intend soon enough.'

Cato and Junius turned to see a party of horsemen riding out from the Nubian army, straight down the dusty road that ran along the bank of the Nile. They came on unhurriedly, crossing the open ground between the two waiting armies.

'I don't want them getting too good a view of our defences,' Cato decided. 'Macro, have a cavalry squadron brought forward. We'll ride out and meet them.'

'Yes, sir.' Macro strode across to the ladder and clambered down from the tower. Cato continued watching the approaching riders for a moment and then descended to join his friend who was holding a spare horse ready. Cato swung himself up and settled into the saddle between the two sets of saddle horns and took up the reins, biting back on the pain in his shoulder.

'Let's see what they want.'

The legionaries on the gate facing the enemy scrambled to open it as Cato and his escort trotted forward and a moment later they passed out of the camp and rode down the track that had been trampled through a crop of wheat that led to the road. There they reined in and the escort formed a line behind the two officers, ready to charge forward if Cato gave them the order. The Nubians were only a few hundred paces away and came on at the same measured pace. There were eight of them, beneath a standard depicting a lion, its mouth agape in a silent roar. The leader, swathed in shimmering black silk and a headpiece wrapped round a conical helmet and covering all but his eyes, rode slightly ahead of the rest of his men. He slowed his pace to a gentle walk as he approached Cato and then tugged his reins when he was no more than ten paces away. His dark eyes regarded the Romans for a moment and then he reached up a hand and pulled the cloth away from his face.

'I wish to speak to the Roman general,' he said in Greek. 'Legate Aurelius.'

'Aurelius is dead. I am the commander of the army,' Cato responded.

'You?' For a moment the Nubian hesitated, then shrugged. 'Whether or not that is true, it makes no difference to what I have to say. So hear me, Roman. I am Talmis, Prince of Nubia, lion of the desert and commander of the army you see before you.' He swept his arm out to indicate the massed ranks stretching across the landscape. 'I have brooked Roman interference in our lands for too long. The time for retribution is at hand. I will not sheath my sword until my honour is satisfied, or it has tasted the blood of many Romans.'

Macro coughed and gestured casually towards the Prince's scabbard and the jewelled handle of his weapon. 'If that is the, uh, sword in question, then it's only fair to point out that it is already sheathed.'

'Macro,' Cato muttered through clenched teeth. 'Be quiet!'

The Prince eased his mount forward, its legs high-stepping as he edged it close to Macro and glared into the centurion's face. Macro raised his eyebrows quizzically.

'Is this your pet comedian, Legate? I shall look forward to seeing how he laughs when I have my men disembowel him.'

'Centurion Macro is inclined to speak his mind more than is good for him,' Cato responded evenly. 'However, he does not speak for Rome. I do. What is it that you wish to say to me, Prince?'

Talmis stared at Macro a moment longer then sniffed with contempt and turned to Cato.

'I come to offer my terms for peace. Rome will cede all of the land south of Ombos to Nubia. In addition, I want half of this year's harvest from the province. And ten talents of gold.' His eyes narrowed shrewdly. 'The Roman measure of talents. Not Egyptian. These terms are not negotiable. If you refuse, then I will continue my advance along the Nile, sacking your cities and burning your crops as I go. Even as far as Alexandria.'

Macro laughed. 'I doubt that Rome would permit that. You come within a hundred miles of Alexandria and the Emperor will send enough legions to the region to obliterate you and your army.'

Prince Talmis shrugged. 'Nubia is a big land, Roman. Big enough for me to continue retreating until your legions die of exhaustion, or thirst. Rome does not frighten me. Well?'

'Your terms are unacceptable,' Cato said simply. 'The negotiations are over.'

He pulled on his reins and turned his horse away and began to walk it back towards the camp. His escort followed suit, with wary looks over their shoulders. At first Prince Talmis was silent, fists clenched in rage. Then he stabbed a finger towards the backs of the Roman horsemen.

'So be it! Within days the vultures will be picking your bones clean!' He snatched at his reins, forcing his horse round sharply, then he spurred it back towards his army, his robes flapping like the wings of a crow while his followers struggled to keep up.

Macro watched him briefly and then edged his mount closer to Cato. 'That was pretty blunt. What are you thinking?'

Cato spoke with a resigned air. 'What else could I say? I have no authority to accept his terms. Even if I did, the Emperor could never afford to. So we will have our battle.'

'When?'

'Tomorrow. At dawn.'

Prince Talmis and his senior officers had completed their plans for the disposition of the Nubian army and were feasting on heavily spiced mutton when their meal was interrupted. The captain of the Prince's bodyguard, a large scarred warrior, eased aside the tent flap and entered. Four of his men followed, either side of a tall figure in a ragged tunic and scale armour vest. His skin and hair were matted with sweat and dust and it took the Prince a moment to recognise him.

'Ajax…'

The other officers stopped eating as they turned to look at the gladiator. Their conversation faltered and an uneasy silence filled the tent. Prince Talmis wiped the grease from his fingers on the hem of his robe and leaned back from the polished silver tray from which he had been dining. He stroked his jaw in contemplation as he stared at Ajax.

'Is this the man who claimed that he would be a valuable ally in the war against Rome, I wonder?' he asked with cold sarcasm. 'From the look of you it would appear that you have seen some hard fighting. Is that so?'

'Yes, Highness.' Ajax bowed his head.

'I take it you had the worst of it.'

'Yes.'

'I see. Then tell me, have you achieved what I asked of you?'

Ajax, weary as he was, stood stiffly at full height, dominating the bodyguards who stood around him. 'My men have killed and wounded many of the Romans, as you wished, Highness. We took one of their forts, slaughtered its garrison and burned it to the ground.'

'And what of our casualties?'

Ajax hesitated briefly before replying. 'I regret to say that I and a few of my followers are all that survive. The rest are lost.'

Prince Talmis's eyes widened, and his officers exchanged anxious glances, waiting for him to give vent to his anger. The Prince's lips twitched. 'Lost? Explain.'

'After the fort was destroyed the Romans sent a force across the Nile to deal with my column, Highness. We held the bank for as long as we could before falling back on a temple that I had ordered the men to fortify. There we made our stand.'

'Not you apparently.'

'I had done as much as I could. My death would not have affected the outcome. My life, on the other hand, guarantees that I will continue to be a threat to the Romans. Which is to the benefit of us all, Your Highness.'

'How did you escape?'

'My spy arranged to save me and a handful of others.'

Talmis nodded slowly and was silent for a moment before he responded. 'So, you have cost me five hundred men. Is this what you meant by being of use to me? You, your men and your spy have failed me,' he concluded in a tone of contempt.

'We have killed many Romans, Highness. And I succeeded in holding back their advance for two days. As you wished.'

'That is so. But I do not consider the loss of five hundred of my men a success. In any case, I have the enemy where I want them now so your usefulness to me has been played out, gladiator.'

Ajax's eyes narrowed and he replied in a low, even tone. 'What do you mean by that, Your Highness?'

'The Romans will be crushed tomorrow so I will have no more need of you. If you had been one of my officers I would have had your head by now for the unnecessary loss of a considerable number of my men.'

'In order to fulfil your orders the loss was unavoidable, Highness.'

'I wonder.'

'And I am not one of your officers,' Ajax went on. 'I am Ajax, commander of the slave revolt on Crete. While I live Rome trembles,' Ajax blustered. 'If you kill me, you only serve the interests of Rome.'

'Perhaps,' Talmis conceded. 'However, your execution will provide a valuable example to the rest of my men of the price of failing me.'

'But I have not failed you.'

'I disagree. It is possible that your death will suit my purposes better than your continued service.'

Ajax glared at the Prince. 'You called me an ally.'

'A prince has no allies. He has only servants and enemies. It is up to him how to use his servants.'

The gladiator spat on the ground in contempt. At once the captain of the guard turned and struck him on the side of the head. Then he stood, fist clenched, daring the gladiator to defy the Prince again. Ajax shook his head to clear the dizziness caused by the blow. He looked at the Prince and spoke in a low voice. 'You are making a mistake, Highness. Kill me, and you kill the hope of all those slaves who wait to rise up against Rome.'

'Be silent, gladiator!' the Prince commanded. 'One more word and your life is forfeit.' He pressed his lips together in a cruel, thin line as he stared at Ajax. The other men in the tent dared not move as they waited for their master to continue. At length the Prince raised a finger and pointed at the gladiator. 'Your fate is mine to decide. It may be true that I have more to gain by keeping you alive and letting you spread your poison through the Emperor's domains. I will think on it. For now, you are my prisoner. I need to ponder on your fate.' He clicked his fingers at the captain of his bodyguard. 'Take this slave away. Place him under close guard, somewhere safe. He is not to be harmed. Nor is he to escape. If he does, you will answer for it with your life. Go.'

The captain of the bodyguard bowed deeply and gestured to his men to escort Ajax from the tent. Then he followed, still bowing as he backed out and then slipped the flap across the entrance.

Prince Talmis glanced round at his officers. None was prepared to meet his eye. They sat still and silent. He smiled with cold satisfaction at their obeisance and then reached for his wine goblet.

'Gentlemen, a toast!' He raised his goblet, and immediately the other men scrambled for theirs and held them ready.

'Death to Rome!' Talmis called out.

His officers echoed his toast in a loud bellow and outside, those soldiers who heard the toast smiled as they turned to stare at the campfires of the Roman camp, dwarfed by the flares from the Nubian army sprawling across the dark landscape.