The Gladiator (50 page)

‘If you want to live, get off.’

The rebel nodded, and awkwardly eased his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground on the far side of the horse. Then he rapidly backed away. Macro watched him carefully until the rebel was at a safe distance, then sheathed his sword and steadied the horse a moment before mounting it. The animal was skittish and Macro spoke to it calmly and clicked his tongue before walking it forward to join Cato.

‘Are you all right?’ Cato asked anxiously. ‘Fine. Let’s go.’ They urged their horses on and continued the pursuit. The brief fight had lost them some ground and Cato looked ahead keenly for any sight of the enemy as they rode along the narrow track. The route wound its way along the spine ofthe peninsula, and all the time he anticipated catching sight of the gladiator and his retinue again. But there was no sign of them, and a terrible doubt formed in Cato’s mind. Then the track crested a small rise that afforded a view of the peninsula stretching out ahead for some distance. Empty.

‘Shit!’ Cato hissed between clenched teeth.

‘Where in Hades are they?’ Macro growled. ‘How could we have missed them? How?’

‘They must have gone off the main track,’ Cato decided, cursing himself. ‘We have to turn around.’

He yanked the reins round and trotted back along the track, glancing carefully from side to side.After a quarter ofa mile he found what he was looking for; he had missed it as they had galloped past at speed a while earlier. A small path left the track, winding down the slope. They quickly turned aside from the main track and followed the path down as it wound between rocks and stunted trees. Below them they could hear the faint rush and hiss of waves on the shore, and then the track opened out on to the top of a small cliff before doubling back steeply as it carried on down towards a stretch of beach.

Cato heard voices shouting and the faint clatter of weapons. No more than a few hundred feet out to sea he saw the outline of a small Roman warship, and recognised it as one of the liburnians. A handful of smaller boats were clustered about the hull and Cato realised at once what was happening.

‘Shit, that’s the warship that ran aground. The rebels are taking it.’

They turned the horses down the path and urged them on. There was only a short distance to go, and then Cato and Macro emerged on to a thin strip ofsand.The beach was a little over a hundred paces wide, and a handful of abandoned shacks lay clustered at the foot of the cliff. The rebels’ horses had been left at the water’s edge. A handful of small boats remained, and the two Roman swung themselves down from their saddles and ran across the sand towards them. Neither had sails, only oars. Cato grabbed the side of the nearest boat.

‘Help me!’

He braced his feet in the surf and hauled the boat into the water as Macro grabbed the other side and pulled. It dragged stubbornly across the sand until a small wave lifted it up and they managed to heave it free of the shore. They pushed it out until the water was round their waists and then scrambled over the side. As Cato lifted the oars into the rowlock pegs and Macro sat heavily in the stern, the last sounds of fighting died away. The thin light of dawn filtered across the bay as Cato took his seat on the centre bench and desperately began to row out towards the liburnian. If the warship was still aground, then the rebels would not get away.

Cato knew that he and Macro were facing certain death once they reached the ship. He prayed that they might at least kill the gladiator before they were cut down, and that Julia could find some way to escape in the confusion. He looked over his shoulder and saw that he had closed the distance on the liburnian. Then he froze and looked more intently. The ship was moving up and down on the swell.

‘I thought you said it had run aground,’ said Macro.

‘It was. The crew must have got her off just as the rebels came aboard.’

Cato realised that the marines must be dead, and the sailors and men at the oars were under the orders of Ajax and his followers. Cato started rowing again with all his strength, but his poor technique and frantic oar strokes were punished by the swell, which caused him to catch crabs on either side, one time lifting the oar right out of the pegs.

By the time they had closed to within fifty feet of the liburnian, Macro saw the long dark blades of the warship’s oars bite down into the water. They made a stroke, rose, arced back and plunged into the sea again as the sleek vessel edged forwards.

‘They’re under way,’ he said softly.

‘No!’ Cato groaned as he desperately redoubled his efforts. ‘No. Please gods, no.’

The liburnian steadily gathered pace and began to swing out into the Bay of Olous, opening the gap between it and Cato. He kept rowing frantically, his limbs aching with the strain. The outline of the liburnian foreshortened as she presented her stern.With a sickening certainty he knew that there was no chance of catching her now. He dropped the oars, rose to his feet, turned and braced his legs apart as he cupped his hands to his mouth and cried out,’Julia! . . .Julia!’

There was a pause before he heard her voice call back: ‘Cato! Help me!’

Then she was cut off.

A pair of figures loomed up on the liburnians stern rail: Ajax, holding Julia tightly by the arm. He called out, mockingly,’You have lost her, Cato. Lost her for ever.’

‘Julia!’

‘She is mine now. Mine to do with as I will. Remember that. Remember the vengeance of Ajax every day for the rest of your life.’

‘No!’ The cry was torn from Cato’s lips. ‘No!’

Suddenly Julia’s spare hand rose up. There was a glimmer of metal in her grip and she stabbed down into Ajax’s shoulder. He recoiled with a bellow of surprise, pain and rage, glancing at the comb sticking out of his shoulder. Instinctively he reached for the wound with his other hand, releasing Julia. At once she threw herself over the stern rail, tumbling down into the sea with a splash. The liburnian was already gathering speed, and as Julia’s head emerged above the water, gasping, the gap between her and the stern of the warship quickly grew. Cato had hurriedly taken up his oars again and was speeding the little craft across the water towards her as she struck out towards them with frantic splashing strokes.

Ajax had pulled the bloodied comb out and stood glaring down into the sea. There was nothing he could do to prevent her escape. By the time he could turn the warship round and head back towards the beach, the little boat would have reached the shore again and his enemies would have escaped on the horses still on the beach. Besides, one of the Roman triremes was already heading back down the bay to come to the assistance of the liburnian that had run aground.

As the boat approached Julia, Macro scrambled to the bows, leaning over to reach out for her. Julia grabbed his wrist, and he hauled her closer before stretching out his spare hand to lift her under the shoulder.

‘Up you come, miss!’ he grunted as he pulled her over the side. ‘I’ve got her, Cato. Turn us round and get back to the shore, quick as you can.’

Cato worked the small craft round and started for the shore, expecting the warship to turn back towards them at any moment. But the liburnian headed steadily towards the mouth of the bay. The oars dipped and thrust through the sea at a regular pace as it drew swiftly away from the small boat. Ajax remained at the stern rail for a while, before he turned and disappeared from sight.

‘We’re safe,’ Macro said in relief.

Cato lowered his oars and turned to embraceJulia as she stumbled towards the centre of the boat and fell into his arms. For a while all was still on the little craft. Cato held her tight, pressing his cheek to the top of her head as he breathed deeply. Macro turned away and stared after the liburnian as it disappeared around the small island at the end of the rocky peninsula and headed out to sea.

Three days later, Sempronius surveyed the remains of the rebel camp as he and his escort rode down to the beach where the remaining ships were undergoing repairs. The rest of the grain fleet had set sail the previous day, making directly for Rome, where the cargo should arrive in time to stave off any hunger and prevent the mob from having an excuse to riot. Despite his relief and joy that his daughter had been rescued, Sempronius’s mood was soured by the inevitable aftermath of such a serious revolt on the island. The senator had little doubt that there would be small reward forth- coming from the emperor for saving the grain fleet, and conse- quently keeping the peace on the streets of Rome. Four of the ships had been lost in the attack, and the officials in charge of the imperial granary would inevitably lodge a complaint against those they held responsible for the recovery of the fleet. Some kind of official reprimand was inevitable. Sempronius sighed. Sometimes being in the service of Romewas a thankless task, and he had to draw satisfac- tion from the knowledge that he had served his Emperor as best he could, despite losing four of the ships.

The loss of the grain was least of it, he reflected. It would be years before the province of Crete recovered from the earthquake and the slave revolt that had followed it. Although the revolt was over, there were still some unsavoury matters to deal with. Centurion Fulvius and his men had shown no mercy to the rebels and the bodies were still being buried in great pits dug into the rocky soil around the bay. Thousands of them, men, women and children. The survivors had been sent back to Gortyna in long chain gangs under the guard of the hard-hearted men of the legions, who would show no pity to those who straggled or fell by the side of the road. Sempronius had passed them on his way to Olous: lines of captives with bleak expressions now that they had been returned to slavery after a brief taste of freedom. They were destined to be held in a special camp outside the city until their owners could be identified and informed. If the owners were dead then they would become the property of the emperor and auctioned off. The sums raised, minus the hefty commission due to the auctioneer, would be forwarded to the imperial treasury in Rome. Sempronius smiled bitterly at the thought that at least someone in Rome would profit as a consequence of the revolt.

An even graver fate awaited those slaves who had been identified as the ringleaders, or who had been captured under arms.They were being held at Olous pending shipment to Rome, where they would be put to death in the arena. It was rumoured that Claudius was contemplating a gladiatorial spectacle in an artificial lake being constructed outside Rome. A re-enactment of the battle of Actium, with scaled-down ships and thousands of condemned men to man the fleets. Sempronius was certain that the contribution from Crete would be welcomed and the rebels would be consigned to a role that left them little prospect of survival.

Sempronius felt bitter that Ajax had escaped. He should have been tortured and put to death, before the gaze of his followers. Every indignity that he had visited upon Sempronius’s daughter would have been repaid with interest. As yet the details were mercifully vague, and Cato’s report had been terse in its description of her and Macro’s period of captivity. For that Sempronius was grateful. He tried not to let his imagination fill in the gaps in Cato’s account. That was unbearably painful and caused him such grief as he had not known since the death of his wife, the only other person he had ever loved without qualification.

At least Julia was alive and safe, Sempronius comforted himself. She was with Cato in his camp at Olous. That made the orders he had sent back to Cato difficult to write. But he knew that he must authorise a pursuit of Ajax as swiftly as possible. The emperor would demand it. Therefore Centurions Macro and Cato were to pick up Ajax’s trail and capture or kill him and his followers. Sempronius had revoked Cato’s temporary promotion to tribune now that the crisis was over and he had returned to his normal rank. Their orders informed Macro and Cato that they were to act with the full authority of the governor of Crete in this matter, and all Roman officials they encountered were charged to extend them every possible aid. Ajax, and everything that he stood for, was to be eliminated as ruthlessly and completely as possible, so that every person in the empire knew the fate that awaited slaves who rose against their masters. Two of the liburnians from Balbus’s squadron had been commandeered, as well as two centuries of legionaries. Centurion Fulvius had already complained and would no doubt try to stir things up between Sempronius and the legate back in Egypt. That was too bad, reflected the senator. He would always be grateful to Petronius for his support, and swore to Jupiter, Best and Greatest, that he would return the favour to his old friend one day.

Meanwhile, he made straight for the headquarters tent and the reunion with his daughter. After they had embraced, he held her at arm’s length, looking for signs of injury, or a deeper hurt in her eyes.

Julia smiled back. ‘I’m all right, Father. Truly. You don’t have to look at me like that.’ He held her close again, because he did not trust himself enough to contain the tearful joy that filled his heart. At length he eased himself away from her. ‘Now then, where is this young man of yours?’

‘He’s down in the bay with Macro, provisioning their ships.’ Julia paused and looked earnestly at her father. ‘Must he go? So soon?’

‘You know he must,’ Sempronius replied firmly. ‘It’s his duty.’ ‘Duty.’ Julia smiled sadly. ‘Always duty. It’s a curse, that’s what it is.’ He nodded sadly. ‘It is always the curse of those who serve the empire with distinction, my dear. Come now, let’s go and find him.’ The two liburnians lay beyond the damaged grain ships, and as Sempronius and Julia rode up towards the warships they could see that the men were loading the last of their stores. Legionaries, stripped to their tunics, were carrying spare weapons, kit, rations and water aboard up the narrow gangways that stretched from the shallows to the decks. Macro and Cato were standing on the beach conferring as they checked the entries of supplies on a large waxed tablet. As they noticed the approach of the governor and his escort they turned to salute him.