The Gladiator

They shuffled back, rejoined Vulso and Musa, and then the four of them moved through the scrub on the fringes of the tents, in a long arc round to the far side of the peninsula. There were many more fugitives streaming up the hill from the direction of the main camp, and by some unspoken mutual consent the small party of Romans and the fleeing rebels warily shifted some distance round each other in the shadows, then hurried on. At last Cato saw that the pens were in line with the largest tents, and gestured to the men following him.

'Let's get in closer.'

They padded through the outermost shelters: makeshift tents spread over crudely cut frames, nearly all empty after the initial rush down towards the battle being fought on the other side of the bay.

Some were not empty, however, and Cato felt his flesh freeze at the sound of a shrill shriek, before he realised it was an infant crying. A woman murmured gently and the crying quickly died away. There were others amongst the shelters, fleeing from the camp, who had taken the chance to pause long enough to ransack some of the empty tents they were passing through. Cato nearly tripped over one of them, a man bent down in the shadows as he dragged a large silver bowl through some tent flaps. Cato stopped in his tracks. The man jumped to his feet, where the glow from the fires lit up his features.

A wrinkled face, half hidden by shaggy hair, and an unkempt beard.

He snarled, revealing a handful of jagged teeth.

'Look out, sir!' Atticus pushed Cato aside as the rebel lashed out with a knife. Cato heard it swish close to his ear, and then there was a dull crunch as Atticus floored the man with a punch. As the rebel collapsed unconscious to the ground, the optio snatched the knife from his fingers and drew it back, ready to cut the man's throat.

'No.' Cato held his arm. 'Leave him. Let's go on.'

The pens were only a short distance ahead of them, and Cato weaved cautiously through the remaining shelters until they reached the rear of the structures. Beyond them the ground was open all the way to where the group of men were gathered in front of what Cato assumed to be the gladiator's personal tent. They were watching the destruction of their comrades down in the camp, and talking in anxious tones, though Cato could not catch the sense of what they were saying. The walls of the pens stood as tall as his shoulders, and he knew that if he stood up to peer over the walls to look for Macro and Julia he was almost sure to be seen.

He rose up as high as he dared and called out softly, 'Julia?...

Macro?'

There was no reply. He called again, a little louder this time. Still there was no reply.

'They're not in there,' Atticus muttered.

'No.'

'So what do we do?'

'Keep looking,' Cato said firmly, and edged along behind the pens until he reached a gap where he could crawl forwards and look round from the safety of the shadows. He saw it almost at once - a cage a short distance from the largest tent and away from the other shelters. It was on the highest point of the camp, exposed to the elements. Cato edged back as yet more rebels fled past. The Romans flattened themselves to the ground and lay still. Once the rebels had gone, Cato turned to the others.

'I know where they are: Macro and Julia.' He told Atticus and the others about the cage.

'Did you actually see them?' the optio asked.

Cato shook his head. 'Too dark. But where else could they be?'

'I'm beginning to think they could be anywhere. Pretty soon this place is going to be overrun with slaves fleeing up from the main camp. We'd best find the hostages as soon as we can, sir.'

'Then let's move.' Cato gestured with his hand and rose into a crouch, making his way back a short distance from the pens and in amongst a cluster of the shelters. He paused to let the others catch up, then the small party continued through the last of the huts and along the slope, out of sight of the tents. To their right the sea was a dark mass, and the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks below came clearly to their ears. When Cato judged that they were parallel to the cage, he led them back up the slope, cautiously picking his way through the stunted bushes and rocks. Some one shouted a warning, then there were more raised voices, and Cato paused for a moment until he realised they could not have been seen. A few more steps and then the ground evened out and they could see the cage, twenty paces away. Beyond that there was a patch of open ground and the side of the tent with the men forming a screen before it as they fended off a stream of rebels rushing past. For the moment none of them were watching the cage. Cato squinted and saw the dark shape of a bulky figure within, slumped against the bars. Hope made his heart beat faster, then he felt a chill of fear as he realised that there was only one person in the cage, unquestionably male.

'Macro?' he called out.

The figure stirred, then replied gruffly, 'Who's that?'