The Gladiator

Now he forced himself to sit down at the table and pour himself a cup of wine. He drank it deliberately and then poured another and dipped his bread in before chewing it methodically, staring at the cracked wall in front of him. The owner of the farm had obviously been a man of some wealth, but limited taste. The walls of this, his dining room, had been covered with murals depicting a bacchanal orgy. Directly in front of Ajax was an image of a pair of gladiators, a secutor like Ajax himself, in a wary crouch as he faced a net-wielding retiarius. Arranged around them were the guests, drinking and gorging and laughing as they urged the gladiators on. One of the women, heavily made up, was holding the penis of a man as she watched the fight with an excited expression. In the centre of the party sat the host, a fat, jolly bald man wearing a leaf crown awry on his shining pate as he raised a cup in the air, filled to overflowing.

'Bastards!' Ajax roared, snatching up the jug and hurling it against the wall with all his might. The jug exploded, sending shards of pottery and jets of wine in all directions. The mural was instantly covered in dark liquid that ran down the wall so that the images were distorted by a red film. Ajax's heart was pounding as he stared at the wall with wide, terrifying eyes. Behind him there was a creak as the door swung on its hinges.

'General? Are you all right?' Chilo asked anxiously. There was a pause as he saw the remains of the jug and the wine on the wall.

'General?'

For a moment Ajax remained still, fighting back the rage that burned in his heart. The memory of his slavery was still like an open wound, and above all thought of the indignities and pain that he had suffered was the image of Centurion Macro, one of those responsible for the crucifixion of his father, and the cause of Ajax being sold into slavery. Macro, and that other one, the tall, thin officer his own age, and the legate who had commanded them, Vespasian. Even if the others were beyond his reach, serving elsewhere in the accursed empire of Rome, Macro was at hand, and at his mercy. Ajax muttered an oath to every god he held sacred that he would avenge his father, he would avenge himself and he would make sure that Macro was made to suffer every torment that could be conceived before he was allowed to die.

Chilo coughed. 'General? Is there anything I can do?'

Ajax sucked in a deep breath and turned round. Chilo commanded the best men of the slave army. They had been equipped with the pick of the captured armour and weapons. 'Yes. Summon your men. Have them formed up. We have some ladders, I recall.'

'Yes, General, some, but they are in sections and will need to be securely lashed together before we can use them on the walls of Gortyna.'

'Then see to it. At once. We will attack as soon as they are ready'

'Attack?' Chilo could not hide his astonishment. The openness of his character was one of the reasons Ajax had chosen him to be one of his closest comrades. He could not hide anything from his general, especially any sign of doubt or treachery.

'But General, the men have marched most of the day. They will be settling in for the night.'

'That's too bad. Besides, the Romans will have seen us make camp. They won't be expecting any attack so soon after we have arrived. That's why we must do it. To catch them unawares.' Ajax thought a moment. 'We'll make for that section close to the main gate. It's been repaired, but it looks weak, and they haven't been able to raise it back up to the level of the rest of the wall.' He nodded to himself. 'Yes. We'll attack there, out of the darkness.'

The gleaming helmets of the sentries were clearly visible by the light of the flames flickering along the wall as Ajax thrust his hand up to halt the column behind him. Chilo repeated the gesture and the men drew up, still and silent as shadows. Ajax had ordered them to leave all unnecessary kit back at the camp, and anything that might make a noise that would give them away. Halfa mile back, the much larger war band of Kharim stood ready to charge in if a breach was secured, or the gatehouse seized. His men were armed with an assortment of weapons and carried little or no protection. But their hearts were filled with determination to throw themselves at their enemy if the chance came.

Chilo's men were barefoot and wore scale armour and helmets.

They carried shields and spears with daggers thrust into their sword belts. Ajax waved his hand and the men gently eased their shields down and crouched beside them. Ajax lowered his own shield and spear to the ground and removed his helmet, softly ordering Chilo to do the same.