CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘How many men did we lose?’ Ajax asked as he stared at
the distant Roman figures at the far end of the
village.
Karim, his closest
follower, looked up from the wound he was dressing on Hepithus’s
arm. ‘Two dead. One as good as and four wounded. Though all of the
wounded can still fight.’
Ajax considered the
outcome of the ambush. He had lost two men and had killed or
wounded as many as ten of the Romans. A profitable exchange then,
though he had hoped to annihilate them completely, or at least
scatter them so that they could not continue the pursuit. Some of
his men had been in a bad way when they reached the village late in
the afternoon. It had taken all his personal authority to get some
of them to prepare the ambush. The rest, his fellow gladiators, had
been content to make a stand against their pursuers rather than
continue to struggle on through the mangrove. The small victory had
gone some way towards restoring their belief in him. As he knew it
would.
Ajax had a clear
understanding of the mentality of the gladiators who followed him,
thanks to the years he had lived, and fought, in their ranks. They
lived to fight. Having once been forced to risk their lives at the
behest of their masters, they knew the value of freedom and would
endure any hardship and any danger rather than submit to being
slaves again, or facing execution. It was as well that gladiators
respected a hierarchy based on proficiency, Ajax mused, otherwise
his leadership would surely have been challenged at some stage
since their flight from Crete. But as long as he was unquestionably
the best fighter amongst them, they would continue to respect and
follow him, and obey his orders. Despite his lapse in judgement.
Once again Ajax cursed himself for his complacency. The supply base
had been a most useful lair from which to continue their harassment
of the Romans. For nearly two months they had eaten well and
rested, all the time knowing that they would have to abandon the
bay at some point.
They should have quit
the place long ago, Ajax realised bitterly. They had made
themselves too comfortable. They had done what only the greenest of
gladiators ever did - they had lowered their guard. The lookouts
had failed to do their duty. He felt a moment’s rage course through
his veins. The fools had cost their comrades dearly. In the months
that the renegades had been at the supply base he had been able to
swell their ranks from amongst the slaves on the ships they had
preyed on. At the time of the Roman raid, Ajax’s original company
of thirty of his closest lieutenants and the survivors of his
bodyguard had swelled to over three hundred men, enough to crew
both ships in the bay, and even the damaged Roman warship that had
unwittingly fallen into his hands shortly before the
raid.
Ajax frowned as he
reproached himself again. It was inevitable that the warship would
be missed, but not nearly so swiftly. As soon as he became aware
that the Romans had found his hideout, Ajax marvelled at the speed
with which his enemy had guessed the fate of the warship and moved
to attack him. The base, all of his ships and all but fifty of his
men had been lost in the attack.
Clearly the Romans
were being led by an outstanding officer. Now he knew. Ajax had
recognised the voice challenging him from the street. The prefect,
Cato, who had brought his rebellion on Crete crashing to defeat at
the point where Ajax had been certain that he held every advantage.
That rebellion had failed. But there would be another, Ajax had
resolved. One day, he and his men would be the cadre around which
another army of slaves would rise up to challenge their Roman
masters. The Egyptian peasants had suffered under the heel of Roman
rule, and Ajax’s recent masquerade had exacerbated their
discontent. Many would be willing enough to support a revolt. Many,
but not all, Ajax thought, as he gazed at the burning
village.
When Ajax had led his
exhausted men out of the swamp and into the village, the headman
had greeted them nervously. He had wisely offered water and food to
the column of armed men. As Ajax’s men had thirstily gulped down
the water the villagers brought to them, he had seen the place’s
potential as an ambush site. Hemmed in by the dyke and reeds on one
side, and the tangled mangrove on the other, the village was a
natural chokepoint. Ajax knew that he was being closely followed by
a handful of lightly armed Romans and saw the opportunity to be rid
of them. Twenty men were left behind in hiding as the rest
pretended to move on. The Romans had followed their trail, past the
place of concealment, and then the trap was sprung. Caught between
the men who had been hiding and Ajax and the main body who turned
about and charged back into the village, the legionaries had been
quickly cut down.
The success of the
ambush had prompted Ajax to consider repeating it on a larger
scale, against the main column of Romans who would be sure to be
following up on their scouts. This time the headman ordered them to
leave the village, fearful of the reprisals that the Romans would
carry out against his village if they found the bodies of their
comrades. Ajax had ordered the villagers to be rounded up and held
in the goat pen to prevent any of them escaping to warn the Romans.
However, the villagers had begun to wail fearfully and were
heedless of his demand for them to be silent, even when he had
threatened them with violence.
There had been no
alternative, Ajax told himself. He had not wished to have the
villagers’ blood on his hands, but the safety of his men came
first. The Romans could not be alerted to the danger. The order was
given to his most reliable men and they entered the animal pen and
slaughtered the villagers. Years of training in Roman gladiator
schools meant they were accustomed to obeying orders immediately,
just as they had become hardened to the suffering of others. It was
over swiftly and when the last of the dying screams had faded, the
village stood still and silent, waiting for the arrival of the
Roman column.
Karim finished tying
off the dressing round the Nubian’s arm and nodded at the man to
withdraw from their presence. He wiped the blood off his fingers on
the rim of his filthy tunic which stank of sweat and the stagnant
odour of the swamp.
‘What now,
General?’
Ajax glanced at him,
wondering if Karim was mocking him. His followers had always
referred to him as their general, and in time Ajax had come to
insist on the title. Karim used it in front of other men but
usually he spoke frankly and without deference when they were
alone.
‘We wait for them to
make another attack.’
‘What makes you think
they will?’
‘What choice have
they got?’ Ajax replied simply. ‘They are here to hunt us down.
They must attack, and soon.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they fear
that we may escape them again.’
Karim took a sip of
water from his canteen and cleared his throat. ‘Then why don’t we
escape? Now, while they hesitate.’
‘Because we are
evenly matched. They have no more men than we do. We can kill these
Romans and leave their bones to rot in the swamp. Are all the
preparations complete?’
Karim nodded.
‘Canthus has concealed the stakes in the grass and his men are
ready.’
‘Then let the Romans
attack.’ Ajax smiled grimly as he stared at the enemy.
Karim watched him
closely for a moment before he spoke again. ‘There is another
reason why you choose to stand and fight, isn’t
there?’
Ajax nodded. ‘So you
heard him too?’
‘I did.’
‘Then you will know
why I must stand my ground and seize the chance to kill that Roman
officer. Unfortunately, I did not see the other one with
him.’
‘Centurion
Macro.’
Ajax nodded and
clenched his fists. ‘To think that I had Macro at my mercy for so
many days back on Crete. I could have killed him at any time. I was
a fool, Karim. I should have taken justice when it was offered,
rather than indulge my desire to torment my enemy.’
Karim shrugged. ‘It
is always easy to be wise after the event, General.’
Ajax frowned briefly.
‘True . . . All the more reason why I cannot endure the thought of
losing this chance to have vengeance. For being sold into slavery,
and for the death of my father.’ Ajax’s tone was ice cold. ‘As long
as Prefect Cato and Centurion Macro still live, I’ll not be able to
rest, not be able to be content.’
‘You shall never have
those things while there is still a Rome,’ Karim responded wearily.
‘What do you think to achieve, my friend? Is your heart set on
killing every Roman in the world?’
‘If that were
possible, then yes.’
‘But it is not
possible.’
Ajax turned to him
and flashed a smile. ‘Give me the time to do it and we shall see.
Besides, do you think that we are alone in our hatred of Rome?
Remember what we got out of that fat captain of the last cargo
ship? That the Nubians were poised to invade the south of the
province.’
‘I
remember.’
‘Then perhaps we
should consider throwing in our lot with the Nubians.’
‘Perhaps. But Nubians
are an unknown quantity,’ Karim reflected. ‘It might not be wise to
join them, even if they hate Rome as we do. I would not make that
decision lightly.’
‘Nor would
I.’
Karim shook his head
pityingly. ‘The desire for revenge weighs down on you, my General.
The burden blinds you to the responsibility you have to others. To
me, and to all those who follow you. And all those who might one
day follow you, if you can put aside your personal craving for
revenge. You must put reason before feeling. That is what it means
to be a true leader.’
Ajax shrugged. ‘I am
a man, even as I am a leader, Karim. I cannot be untrue to the
dictates of my heart. Not for you, or any other who chooses to
follow me. I must have my revenge. If the gods are kind I will have
it here in this village this night. I will kill those Roman
soldiers. I will cut the head off Prefect Cato. But, if I take him
alive, then I will do to him what he did to my father and nail him
to a cross, and sit and watch as he dies, burning under the sun,
begging for water or the deliverance of a quick death. I shall give
him neither,’ Ajax concluded harshly.
They were both silent
for a moment, then Ajax stirred and stared intently down the length
of the village to where the legionaries were stirring. As he
watched, they formed into a line and presented their shields in the
dull glow of the dying flames. At the centre stood a tall, slender
figure with a plumed helmet. When the soldiers were ready, he
raised his sword and swept it forward and the legionaries began to
advance.
Ajax cupped a hand to
his mouth and called to his men. ‘Here they come! Archers, make
ready! Gladiators, on me!’
As the figures of his
men rose up from the shadows, Ajax turned to Karim with a grim
smile. ‘Pray that the gods are generous, my friend, and we end this
tonight.’