Simon Scarrow - The Gladiator

Ajax chuckled. 'You're missing the point, Fuscus. It's not our people who need the grain. It's the people of Rome. Without the grain fleet they will starve. There are over a million mouths to feed in Rome. How long do you think the emperor will be able to defy a starving mob?' Ajax nodded gently to himself. 'At last we have a weapon that we can hold at the throat of our enemy.'

The crews of the warships were left with the task of burying the dead of Matala, while Fulvius marched his column on to Gortyna. Cato rode ahead with a squadron from the mounted cohort, consumed with anxiety for the fate of his friends. He led the horsemen on at a gallop, thundering along the dusty road to the provincial capital, all the while terrified of what he might see when he finally arrived in sight of the city. The horses and men were only allowed to stop and rest when they were on the verge of exhaustion, and then Cato ordered them to walk on until he judged that the mounts had recovered enough to continue being ridden.

All the time his mind was a raging turmoil of images. In his mind's eye he saw Gortyna in smouldering ruins, streets littered with butchered bodies, leading all the way up to the acropolis, where…

He clamped his eyes shut for an instant to force the image from his mind and turned instead to prayer, silently begging the gods to spare Julia, Macro and all the others. If they were safe, then Cato swore to be the servant of the gods — their slave — and live only to please them.

If the price of his friends' lives was his own, then so be it.

An inner voice chided him for being a hypocrite. Since when had he ever placed so much faith in divine intervention? He felt torn between the two impulses, and then turned instead to thoughts of revenge. If Ajax had killed them, Cato resolved never to rest until the gladiator was hunted down and killed, whatever the cost. His heart filled with hatred that spilled into his veins and he was consumed with a burning intensity of purpose to destroy Ajax, to obliterate every fragment of his being. Until now, he had never tasted such a desire for revenge, and for a brief moment some part of his mind, still capable of rational thought, reminded him that this was the self-same revenge that fuelled the fire burning in the heart of Ajax.

'Fuck Ajax,' Cato muttered to himself through clenched teeth.

The decurion who was walking his horse beside him glanced at Cato. 'Sir?'

'What?' Cato glared at him.

'I thought you said something. An order, like.'

'No. It was nothing. Nothing.' Cato moved round to the side of the horse.' Mount up!'

The horses' flanks were still heaving like bellows and the decurion looked at Cato ready to protest, then bit his lip. The rest of the squadron wearily pulled themselves back into the saddle and took up their reins.

'Get a move on!' Cato barked at the slowest of them. 'If we're too late, then the gods help you.'

'Sir,' the decurion edged his mount closer to Cato and lowered his voice, 'the lads are exhausted.'

'I don't bloody care. We have to reach Gortyna as soon as possible.

D'you hear?'

'Sir, it will not make any difference how quickly we reach Gortyna.' He gestured to his men. 'There's only thirty of us. If the slaves are there, then we're not going to be able to do anything. If they've already dealt with the city, then…' He shrugged. 'We won't be able to change what has happened.'

'I don't give a damn,' Cato growled. 'I'm in command, and if we have to ride the horses into the ground to reach Gortyna before dark, we'll do it. Understand?'

The decurion took a deep breath and nodded.

'Then let's go.' Cato thrust his arm in the air, and swept it forwards as he spurred his horse into a trot. 'Advance!'

He increased the pace into a gallop and they pounded on down the road. Late in the afternoon, as the shadows were lengthe ning, the milestones indicated that the city was close. The crops on either side had been harvested, and the trees in the orchards and olive groves that they passed were stripped bare, as if a host of locusts had swept through the land. There were bodies too, sprawled beside carts and wagons that had been unable to outrun the slaves. Cato felt his guts knot in agony as he saw the evidence that Ajax and his army had gone before him. He was being driven to the edge of sanity by the dread of the sight that would greet them when they finally reached the city.

Then they passed the last milestone, as the road climbed over a slight rise, and the city was there before them. Cato reined in.

'Halt!'

As the horses snorted and the riders breathed heavily, Cato squinted as he scanned the landscape. The ground surrounding Gortyna bore the unmistakable signs of being the site of a huge camp. The remains of hundreds of fires had scorched the ground and left low piles of ash at their centre. Every tree, shrub and small building had been stripped for firewood and kindling. Here and there lay piles of animal bones picked clean by those who had fed on them and were now attracting small clumps of birds and rats who gleaned the bits of gristle that were left. There were some latrine ditches, but most of those who had camped here had simply defecated in mutually agreed areas where patches of their waste lay in clear view. A handful of figures were visible outside the city and more on the walls and in the towers along them.

'Ours or theirs?' muttered the decurion.

'Only one way to find out,' Cato replied, tightening his grip on the reins.

The decurion looked sharply at him. 'If they are slaves, then our mounts are too far gone to make much of an escape.'

'Then you had better pray that those are our men.' Cato waved the column on and urged his horse into a trot. They made their way across the plain towards the city. At their approach there was a thin blast from a horn and those outside the city hurriedly made their way back towards the nearest gates and sally ports. Cato slowed the pace as they came within quarter of a mile of the city's west gate and ordered the squadron's standard bearer to raise his staff so. that the pennant would be clearly visible as they approached.

The decurion gestured towards the men on the gate. 'They're clearly ours, sir.'

'Too early to say,' Cato replied.' The rebels have been helping themselves to the kit they took off our men. Keep your eyes peeled.'

As Cato walked his horse towards the closed gate, a figure stepped up behind the ramparts and raised a hand. 'Halt! You at the front, advance and be recognised.'

Cato clicked his tongue and edged forward. 'Tribune Cato!

Returning from Alexandria with the reinforcement column. Open the gate!'

'Yes, sir!' the optio on watch replied, with evident relief.

Moments later the doors swung inwards and Cato spurred his horse into the city, followed by the rest of the squadron. As soon as he was through the arched gateway he slipped off the back of the horse and strode over to the optio, jerking his thumb towards the plain.

'Seems you had company whilst I was gone.'

'Yes, sir. Thousands of 'em.'

'Did they give you any trouble?'

'They made one attack the day they arrived, and paid a heavy price. After that they settled in to starve us out.'

'So where are they?'

The optio shook his head.' No idea, sir. They were gone this morning. Must have marched off during the night and left the fires burning so we wouldn't catch on until first light. The governor's sent patrols off to search for them and see where they're headed.'

'The governor?' Cato frowned. 'Where's the prefect? Macro?'

'Macro's gone, sir.'

'Gone?' Cato stepped up to the optio and grabbed his harness.

'What do you mean, gone?'

'Captured, sir.'

'Macro taken prisoner? I don't believe it. How is that possible? You said the attack was beaten off.'