The Gladiator

As his followers feasted, Ajax made his way from fire to fire, congratulating those who had fought in the ambush, and listening patiently as they boasted of their part in the battle. It did his heart good to see how the ragged, cowed fugitives who had joined his struggle against Rome were now sofull of fight. Where he led in battle, they would follow, unquestioning. He had been used to the adulation of the mob that came to spectate at the games in Rome, but this was altogether different. These slaves, these people, did not follow him because he won them bets, nor because he excited their bloodlust. They followed him because they shared a common burden. And now, he mused, they shared a common destiny.

He had nursed their ambition with small raids on estates and villages, and then attacks on Roman patrols. Only when he had been sure that they were ready did he plan the previous night's ambush.

He had watched the Roman column ever since it had set out from Gortyna. Skirmish by skirmish he had lured the commander towards the hills, and then, when the trap was set, he had sent in the boy. The child had not hesitated for an instant when Ajax had asked Pollio to carry out the task that would almost certainly lead to his death. The boy's father had been killed by an overseer, and his mother sold to a brothel. All he lived for was revenge. He had gone to his death willingly and Ajax had been glad for him to go, knowing he would have done precisely the same if their positions had been reversed. He had long grown used to the conviction that there was nothing he would not do if it aided his desire to defy and destroy Rome and all it stood for. In time, his followers would come to share his vision as fully as he did, as the boy had, and Rome would tremble as it beheld a tide of those it had treated as little more than things rise up to overwhelm the empire.

Ajax allowed himself a moment to indulge in the dream of Rome being crushed beneath his heel. Then he reined in his imagination and focused on the immediate future. A small battle had been won.

Now was the time to exploit the victory, before the Romans could recover from the shock of the defeat.

As the fires died down, the slaves finished the last scraps of their feast and drank the last of the wine. Some began to sing, fragments of songs remembered from the time before they or their forebears had been slaves. Songs fromevery corner of the empire, and the melodies and rhythms, often strange to his ear, moved Ajax deeply.

Truly there was no corner of the earth that had not felt the scourge of Rome. Once more his heart was filled with cold, cold rage and a thirst for revenge.

Returning to the centre of the camp, he climbed on to a wagon piled high with captured equipment and stood atop the driver's bench, sword in one hand, the standard of the Batavian cohort in the other. He clattered the blade against the silver disc bearing an image of the emperor. The surrounding crowd turned towards the sound and began to fall silent, watching their leader expectantly. Ajax lowered his sword and stared out over the sea of faces, dimly lit by the wavering glow of the dying fires. Filling his lungs, he began.

'You have feasted on the best meat, the best wine and the best delicacies that we have taken from those who were our masters. Tell me, what is it that has the best taste tonight?'

'Roast mutton!' a voice cried, and scores of others called out their agreement.

'Garum!' cried another.

'Figs!'

'My girl's cunt!' some one shouted, and there was a roar of laughter.

Ajax clattered his sword against the standard again to silence them.

'You are all wrong! I'll tell you what tastes best and sweetest to every one of us tonight... Liberty! Liberty!'

The crowd cheered, thrusting their fists into the air as they echoed the cry. 'Liberty!'

When the cheering had died down, Ajax continued.' My friends, we have won the first of many fights. But not without cost. We fought with clubs and farming tools against men in armour with swords and spears. Now their weapons are ours, and when we next fight the Romans it will be on far more even terms. No! The next fight will be on our terms. They have grown fat and complacent on the back of our labour and suffering. They cannot match the determination of those who fight for their freedom. That is why they will lose. That is why we shall triumph!'

More cheering greeted his words. Ajax indulged them a moment before he raised his sword and called for quiet.

'My friends, we have tasted liberty, and now victory, but our work is only just beginning. I have a plan. We will demand that our freedom be recognised. We will demand that the Romans give us safe passage out of their empire. Now, it is just possible that they may be inclined to refuse such a reasonable request...'

The crowd laughed and jeered for a moment before Ajax continued.