CHAPTER TWO
Centurion Macro swung his legs over the side of the
cot and then stretched his shoulders with a grunt before he
carefully rose to his feet. Even though Macro was short and stocky,
he still had to bow his head to avoid cracking it on the deck
timbers above. The cabin, tucked into the angle at the stern of the
warship, was cramped. Just large enough to fit his cot, a small
table with a chest beneath it, and the pegs on which hung his
tunic, armour, helmet and sword. He scratched his backside through
the linen of his loincloth and yawned.
‘Bloody warships,’ he
grumbled. ‘Who in their right mind would ever volunteer to join the
navy?’
He had been on board
for over two months now and was beginning to doubt that the small
force despatched to hunt down the fugitive gladiator and his
surviving followers would ever find them. The last sighting of
Ajax’s ship had been over a month before, off the coast of Egypt.
The Romans had followed, once catching sight of a sail on the
horizon, only to lose contact during the following night. Since
then the search for the fugitives had proved fruitless. The two
Roman vessels had searched along the African coast as far as Lepcis
Magna before turning about and heading east, scouring the coastline
for any sign of Ajax and his men. They had passed by Alexandria two
days earlier, low on provisions, but Cato - the prefect in charge
of the mission - had been determined to push his men on to the
limit before breaking off the search to resupply his vessels. Now
Centurion Macro was hungry, frustrated and fed up with the whole
business.
He pulled his tunic
over his head and climbed up the narrow flight of steps on to the
deck. He went barefoot as he had quickly discovered the
disadvantages of wearing army boots on a warship. The neatly
sandstoned decks provided little grip whenever they got wet and
Macro and the other soldiers had a hard time keeping on their feet
with iron nails on the soles of their boots. Two centuries of
legionaries had been assigned to the warships to augment the
strength of the marines; a necessary measure since Ajax and his
followers, most of whom were former gladiators like their leader,
were more than a match for even the finest soldiers in the Roman
army.
As soon as the
trierarch saw Macro emerge on deck, he approached him and nodded a
greeting.
‘A fine morning,
sir.’
‘Is it?’ Macro
scowled. ‘I’m on a small, crowded ship, surrounded by the briney
and without even a jar of wine for company. Fine doesn’t enter into
it.’
The trierarch,
Polemo, pursed his lips and looked round. The sky was almost clear,
only a handful of brilliant white clouds drifted overhead. A soft
breeze filled the sail with a satisfying bulge, like an
over-indulged epicurean, and there was a gentle swell on the sea so
that the ship rose and fell in a regular, comfortable rhythm. To
the right the thin strip of coastline stretched out peacefully. To
the left the horizon was clear. A quarter of a mile ahead lay the
stern of the other ship, leaving a creamy churn of water in its
wake. All in all, as good a day as a sailor could wish for, the
trierarch mused.
‘Anything to report?’
asked Macro.
‘Yes, sir. The last
barrel of salted mutton was broached this morning. The hard bread
will be exhausted tomorrow and I’ve halved the water ration.’ The
trierarch refrained from offering any advice on the troubling
supply situation. The decision on what to do about it was not his,
nor even Macro’s. It was up to the prefect to give the orders to
put into the nearest port and reprovision the ships.
‘Hmmm.’ Macro
frowned. Both men glanced towards the leading warship, as if trying
to read the mind of Prefect Cato. The prefect had conducted the
hunt with a hard-driving obsession. One that Macro could understand
easily enough. He had served with Cato for some years now, as his
superior until very recently. Cato’s promotion had been deserved,
Macro accepted readily enough, but it still felt peculiar to have
their former relationship inverted. Cato was in his early twenties,
a slender, sinewy figure that belied his toughness and courage. He
also possessed the brains to plot his way through the dangers that
had faced them over recent years. If Macro had to choose a man to
follow, it would be someone like Cato. Having served for nearly
fifteen years in the Roman legions before being promoted to the
rank of centurion, Macro had enough experience to spot potential
and yet he had been wrong about Cato, he reflected with a rueful
smile. When Cato had trudged into the fortress of the Second Legion
on the Rhine frontier, Macro had thought that the skinny youth was
hardly likely to survive the hard training that lay ahead. Yet Cato
had proved him wrong. He had shown determination, intelligence and
above all courage and had saved Macro’s life in his first skirmish
with a German tribe raiding across the great river that marked the
boundary of the Empire. Since then, Cato had proved himself to be a
first-rate soldier again and again, as well as the closest friend
Macro had ever had. Now, Cato had won promotion to the rank of
prefect and for the first time he was Macro’s superior. It was an
arrangement that both men were struggling to get used
to.
The prefect’s
determination to track down Ajax was as much motivated by a desire
for revenge as it was by the need to carry out his orders. Even
though he had been tasked with taking Ajax alive if possible, and
delivering him to Rome in chains, Cato felt little inclination to
do so. During the slave rebellion on Crete, Ajax had captured the
woman betrothed to Cato. Julia had been kept in a cage, and left to
endure in her own filth and in rags while Ajax had tormented her
with the prospect of her torture and death. Macro had been captured
at the same time and had shared the same cage, and his thirst for
vengeance was almost as powerful as that of his
superior.
The trierarch cleared
his throat. ‘Do you think he’ll give the order to put in for
supplies today, sir?’
‘Who knows?’ Macro
shrugged. ‘After yesterday’s little incident, I’m not so
sure.’
The trierarch nodded.
The previous evening the two ships had made towards a small coastal
village to anchor for the night. As they had approached the shore
the inhabitants of the cluster of mud-brick buildings had fled
inland, taking their valuables and as much food as they could
carry. A party of legionaries had cautiously searched the village
and had come back empty-handed. No one had remained behind and any
food had been carefully concealed. The only sign of something out
of the ordinary was a number of freshly dug graves and the
burned-out remains of a handful of buildings. With no one to
interrogate, the legionaries had returned to the ships and during
the night they had been attacked with slingshot. Macro had only
been able to see a handful of dark figures against the lighter loom
of the beach. The rap of stones on the hulls and decks and the plop
of the shot landing in the water had continued all night. Two of
the marines had been injured before the rest of the men were
ordered to keep down. The sporadic attack ended shortly before dawn
and the two ships had set sail at first light to continue searching
for Ajax.
‘Deck there!’ the
lookout called from the top of the mast. ‘The Sobek is spilling her wind!’
The trierach and
Macro stared forward. The sail of the other ship was billowing as
the crew released the main sheets to slow the ship.
‘Looks like the
prefect wants to confer,’ the trierarch suggested.
‘We’ll know soon
enough. Bring us alongside,’ ordered Macro. Then he turned and made
his way back to the cabin to retrieve his sword and vine cane and
put on his boots so that he would be more presentable in front of
his superior. By the time he had returned to the deck, his own
ship, the Ibis, was closing up on the
other vessel’s quarter. He could see Cato at the stern, cupping his
hands together as he called across the swell.
‘Centurion Macro!
Come aboard!’
‘Yes, sir!’ Macro
shouted back and nodded to the trierarch. ‘Polemo, I’ll need the
tender.’
‘Aye, sir.’ The
officer turned to order his sailors to raise the ship’s boat from
its cradle on the main deck. While several strained on a pulley
rope, others steered the small boat over the side and then it was
lowered into the sea. Six men clambered down and took up the oars
and then Macro descended the rope ladder and cautiously made his
way to the stern seat and sat quickly. A moment later the craft
shoved off and the sailors heaved on their oars, propelling the
boat towards the Sobek. As they
approached the side, one of the sailors lowered his oar, took up a
boat hook and caught the rope looped either side of the gap in the
ship’s rail. Macro clambered forward, steadied himself and waited
for the boat to rise on the swell, then launched himself at the
ladder hanging down the ship’s side. He climbed quickly, before the
swell passed and dunked him in the sea. Cato was waiting for
him.
‘Walk with
me.’
They made their way
to the bows where Cato curtly ordered a couple of sailors aft so
that the two officers would not be overheard. Macro felt a pang of
concern as he noted his friend’s gaunt features. It had been
several days since they had last spoken face to face and once again
Macro noted the dark patches round the young man’s eyes. Cato
leaned forward and rested an elbow on the thick timber of the
bulwark as he turned to face Macro.
‘What is your supply
situation?’
‘We can last another
two days if I put the men on quarter water allowance. After that
they won’t be good for anything, even if we do find Ajax,
sir.’
A flicker of pained
irritation crossed Cato’s face at Macro’s reference to his superior
rank. He coughed. ‘Look here, Macro, you can drop the “sir” when no
one’s listening. We know each other well enough for
that.’
Macro glanced round
at the men further along the deck and turned back. ‘You’re a
prefect now, my lad, and the men will expect me to treat you as
such.’
‘By all means. But
when I need to speak frankly to you, in private, then we speak as
friends, all right?’
‘Is that an order?’
Macro replied sternly and then his lips could not help lifting a
little, betraying his real mood. Cato raised his eyes. ‘Spare me
the aggrieved feelings of a former fellow centurion,
eh?’
Macro nodded and
smiled. ‘All right then. So, what’s the plan?’
Cato concentrated his
weary mind. ‘Ajax’s trail has grown cold. The men need a
rest.’
‘And so do
you.’
Cato ignored the
comment and continued. ‘Both ships are all but out of supplies. We
will turn about and make for Alexandria. We’re three days out so
we’ll need to find somewhere to take on water and rations. I just
hope we don’t meet the same reception we had yesterday.’ He frowned
and shook his head. ‘That was strange.’
‘Perhaps they took us
for tax collectors.’ Macro shrugged. ‘Can’t say that I’m impressed
by the hospitality of the natives. Hope we get better treatment in
Alexandria. If all the gypos are as friendly as that lot then I
shall be glad when the chase is over and we get back to Rome,
eh?’
‘That might not be
for some time yet, Macro. Our orders are clear. We are to hunt Ajax
down, whatever the cost, and however long it takes. And that’s what
we will do until we are issued new orders. No Roman province, nor
even Emperor Claudius, can afford to rest easy while Ajax and his
followers are still at large. You’ve seen at first hand how he
inspires his followers. He could raise the standard of rebellion
anywhere across the Empire, and the slaves would flock to his side.
While Ajax lives he is a grave threat to the Empire. If Rome falls,
there will be chaos and everyone who lived under the protection of
the legions, free and slave alike, will fall prey to barbarian
invaders. That’s why we must find and destroy Ajax. Besides, we owe
him personally, you and me.’
‘Fair enough. But
what if he’s given us the slip? Ajax could be anywhere. He could be
at the other end of the Mediterranean, or up in the Black Sea. He
might even have abandoned his ship and headed inland. If that’s the
case then we’ve as much chance of finding him as finding a straight
lawyer in the Subura quarter of Rome. Speaking of which, you have a
pretty good reason to return there as soon as possible.’ Macro
lowered his voice. ‘After all that’s happened, Julia’s going to
need you at her side.’
Cato glanced away,
down into the blue depths of the sea. ‘Julia has been in my
thoughts almost every day, Macro. I think of her, and then I
imagine her in that cage Ajax kept the pair of you in. It torments
my mind, picturing what she went through.’
‘We both went through
the same thing,’ Macro replied gently. ‘And I’m still here. Still
the same Macro as ever was.’
Cato looked up at him
sharply, his gaze intense. ‘Really? I wonder.’
‘What do you
mean?’
‘I know you well
enough to see how bitter you are, Macro.’
‘Bitter? And why not?
After what that bastard put us through.’
‘And what did he put
you through? What exactly? You haven’t told me much about it.
Neither did Julia before we left Crete.’
Macro watched him
closely. ‘Did you ask her?’
‘No . . . I didn’t
want to remind her of it.’
‘Or is it that you
didn’t want to know?’ Macro shook his head sadly. ‘You didn’t ask,
and now you are forced to imagine instead. Is that
it?’
Cato stared at him
and then nodded. ‘Something like that, and the fact that I did
nothing to help you.’
‘There was nothing
you could do. Nothing.’ Macro rested his elbows on the bulwark.
‘Don’t take it out on yourself, Cato. That won’t achieve anything.
It won’t help you catch Ajax. Besides, all you have to know is that
Julia is a strong woman. Whatever she went through, give her some
time and she’ll cope with it.’
‘Like you
have?’
‘I’ll deal with it in
my own way,’ Macro said firmly. ‘If the gods see fit to place Ajax
in my path, then I’ll carve his fucking balls off and ram them down
his throat before I finish with him. I swear it by every god that I
have ever prayed to.’
Cato raised his
eyebrows and gave a dry chuckle. ‘Sounds like you’ve managed to put
it all behind you.’
Macro frowned. ‘I
will, when it’s all over.’
‘And until
then?’
‘We don’t rest until
we’ve carried out our orders.’
‘Good. That’s
settled.’ Cato eased himself up. ‘Then I’d better give the orders
to turn the ships about and make for Alexandria.’
Macro stood to
attention and saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’
The moment of
companionship was at an end, Cato accepted sadly. They were prefect
and centurion once more. He nodded at Macro and raised his voice,
as if he was an actor declaiming in front of an audience. ‘Very
well, Centurion. Return to your ship and take station behind the
Sobek.’
They turned back
towards the main deck and had almost reached the base of the mast
when the lookout’s voice called from above.
‘Sail
sighted!’
Cato halted and
tipped his head back. ‘Where away?’
The lookout thrust
his hand out, pointing off the port bow, out to sea. ‘Over there,
sir. Hull down. Eight, maybe ten miles.’
Cato turned to Macro
with an excited gleam in his eye. ‘Let’s hope it’s our
man.’
‘I doubt it,’ Macro
replied. ‘But he might have seen or heard something of
Ajax.’
‘That’s good enough
for me. Now back to your ship and make sail. I’ll close on him from
the sea, you from the direction of the coast. There’ll be nowhere
for him to run, whoever it turns out to be.’