Macro heard the warning, and saw Canthus’s gaze flicker to his right. Macro pounced forward, hammering his sword down on the fingers of the hand nearest him. The blade cut through and the severed digits dropped from the spear shaft. Canthus howled with pain. Macro ran on, and with his full weight behind the punch, smashed his fist into Canthus’s face. As Canthus staggered under the blow, Macro struck with his sword, a savage blow to the side of his head that split his skull with a wet crack. Before Canthus hit the ground, Macro turned on the spot, bracing his feet and holding his sword point out. Karim could not check his sprint in time to avoid the weapon. The point plunged through his chest, shattering his sternum, driving the air from his lungs in a hot blast into Macro’s face. Even so the impetus of his charge drove his body on and both men crashed to the floor, the point of Macro’s sword bursting out of the rebel’s back. Karim glared down at the centurion as blood dripped from his open mouth. Both hands reached up, desperately feeling for the Roman’s throat. Macro felt them begin to claw at his neck and heaved him aside, wrenching at the blade.
There was a sudden blur of movement from the other side of the shrine as Ajax charged towards him. Macro slashed out with his sword, aiming it at the gladiator’s knee. But Ajax’s reflexes had been finely honed in the arena and he leaped high to avoid the blow, over Macro and the body of Karim, and ran on another two paces before scrambling to a stop and turning to face the centurion. Macro rolled on to his feet and rose in a crouch, sword held out to the side, ready. Neither man moved for a moment; and their breathing, the fading gasps of Karim and the moans of Cato echoed softly off the ancient walls.
Ajax licked his lips. ‘You should have killed me alongside my father.’
‘Yes, I should,’ Macro muttered. ‘That was a mistake . . . which I intend to correct.’
He paced forward and swung at the gladiator. Ajax parried the blows and then counterattacked with a swift series of thrusts and cuts that tested Macro’s swordsmanship and sharp reactions to the limit. Then he stepped back and they stared at each other in the failing light. The blood from Ajax’s side was flowing freely and he could feel the warm trickle running down the outside of his thigh. He knew that he would begin to weaken soon. The telltale chill already pricked at his skin. Soon his vision would begin to blur. The veteran instructor who had trained Ajax years before had drilled into his students the danger signs associated with wounds. As soon as a man knew that he was weakening, he must strike, or soon be reduced to begging the mob for Mercy. Ajax launched another flurry of blows and the clash of blades echoed shrilly off the surrounding walls. Still he could find no way past the Roman’s defences. He caught the cold look of satisfaction on Macro’s face.
Macro saw the wound in the gladiator’s side and the streak of blood on his leg. Evenly matched as they were, time was against Ajax. His loss of blood would steadily slow him down and in the end Macro would kill him. Revenge would be his.
Ajax nodded bitterly as he grasped the truth of his situation. ‘You think you have won, Roman. Do you really think you will defeat me? Do you think I, Ajax, would permit that?’ He sneered. ‘While I live, the flame of rebellion will burn in the hearts of slaves everywhere. And I live as long as you have no proof that I am dead. By that measure, you are defeated today.’
Before Macro could grasp his meaning, Ajax turned and sprinted towards the entrance and ran out into the dusk.
‘Shit!’ Macro glanced at Cato, momentarily torn by the urge to help his friend. Then he turned and ran after Ajax. The gladiator ignored the path leading down to the landing stage and headed across the cracked paving stones in front of the shrine, down the smoothed boulders and into the long grass. Macro followed him, losing ground thanks to his shorter legs. The grass rustled and whipped at his legs as he ran after Ajax, already some fifty feet ahead of him and gaining more ground with every pace. Ahead Macro could see that the end of the island was close to the western bank, no more than fifty paces of open water. Ajax entered the reeds and his boots splashed into the shallow murky water. By the time Macro reached the reeds, Ajax was already waist deep, wading out into the Nile. He glanced back and smiled as he saw the gap he had opened up between himself and Macro. Then he was clear of the reeds and leaped forward, releasing his sword. He began to strike out into the current.
Macro stopped ankle deep in the water lapping at the reeds and slipped his sword belt over his head. His fingers clawed at the fastenings of his harness. As he heaved his harness over his head and threw it aside, he heard a loud rustle in the reeds a short distance away, then a splash as a heavy body entered the water. A dark shape surged out from the reeds and made across the water at an angle towards Ajax.
At the last moment, the gladiator turned and saw the crocodile’s unblinking eyes, set in its ridged tough hide. He turned and looked at Macro. ‘No! NO!’
Then his head snapped forwards. His arms came up flailing, trying to beat at the monster that gripped him in its powerful jaws with sharp, tearing teeth. There was a great commotion in the water as the crocodile came up and rolled over, its light-coloured belly glistening in the last light of the day. Then it was gone. The disturbed water rippled for a moment before the Nile flowed peacefully on into the gathering dusk.
Macro watched for a moment, to be sure that Ajax was gone. His body felt numb with shock at the death of his enemy. Then there was a terrible rage that welled up from the pit of his stomach, burning his heart as he gritted his teeth, mentally cursing the gods with every resource of anger at his disposal. To have pursued Ajax for so long, and so far, only for this. Macro’s fists clenched tightly and he trembled.
‘Fuck . . . Fuck! . . . FUCK!’
His words echoed faintly from the far bank and then there was silence. He slowly turned away from the Nile, picked up his armour and waded on to dry ground before hurrying back to the shrine to see to his friend, Cato.
T
wo months later Cato climbed the path up to the imperial villa perched on the cliff on the eastern end of the island of Caprae. They had taken passage on an imperial courier packet from Alexandria, and braved the rough autumn seas to cross the Mediterranean and sail up the west coast of Italy, making for the port of Ostia on the mouth of the Tiber. When they put in at the naval base of Puteoli they were told that Emperor Claudius and the imperial secretary, Narcissus, were wintering on Caprae. Accordingly, the captain of the packet reversed course and made for the small rocky island thrusting up from the sea just off the bay of Naples. Cato had left Macro in one of the inns of the small fishing village nestling beside the harbour.
As he climbed the path, passing through checkpoints manned by wary Praetorian Guards, Cato collected his thoughts so that he could deliver a clear report to the imperial secretary. The defeat of the Nubians and the death of Ajax had brought his mission in Egypt to an end. Once the Twenty-Second Legion had returned to its base in Memphis, Cato and Macro had quit the legion and returned to Alexandria. They travelled down the Nile on a barge, Cato resting under an awning as he recovered from his wound. The Jackals’ surgeon had sewn the wound up and it had taken many days before the flesh had knitted together in a jagged scar stretching across his face.
In Alexandria the governor had listened, grim-faced, as the two officers reported on the outcome of the campaign, the grievous losses suffered by the Roman army and the ravaging of the province along the upper Nile. Petronius had been angry at Cato’s decision to exchange Talmis for Ajax, especially as there was no body to put on public display. But he took no action against the acting legate. Petronius announced that Cato would have to answer for his decisions before officials back in Rome, and take his punishment there. The governor had hurriedly written a preliminary report and sent it ahead of Cato for delivery to Narcissus, the Emperor’s closest adviser.
Throughout the voyage home, Cato’s mood had become more and more despondent. He yearned to return to Julia’s side. She was waiting for him at her father’s house in Rome and he could picture her, vividly, as he imagined himself stepping across the threshold and into her arms. Such thoughts were immediately soured by her reaction to the scar that now crossed his brow and cheek.
His mind was also burdened by the grievous error of judgement he had made over Hamedes. His reasoning had been faulty and an innocent man had died. Macro had spoken little of the matter and offered rough reassurance that Cato’s mistake was understandable amid the chaos and bloodshed of the campaign. Cato was far less forgiving of himself.
He approached the main gate of the imperial villa at the top of the track and told the duty optio his name and rank and explained his request to see Narcissus and make his report.
‘Wait here, sir,’ the optio instructed and unhurriedly climbed the stairs into the villa. A cold wind was blowing over the island and gathering clouds threatened rain. To the north the hillside tumbled steeply down to the cliffs overlooking the sea and Cato stared over the bay towards the distant headland of Puteoli. A hundred or so miles further along the coast lay Ostia, and a short ride into Rome, and Julia.
‘Prefect!’
Cato turned and saw the Praetorian optio beckoning to him from the top of the stairs. The guards on the gate parted to admit him. Then, at the foot of the stairs, another guard raised a hand.
‘Excuse me, sir. I take it you have handed your sword and any other weapons in to the port guards?’
‘Yes.’
The guardsman nodded. ‘Good. Then there’s one last search before you proceed, sir. Please raise your arms and stand still.’
Cato did as he was instructed and the guardsman expertly frisked his cloak, tunic and ran his fingers around the inside of Cato’s belt before he stood back. ‘That’s it, sir.’
Cato advanced and climbed the stairs to the waiting optio, who led him through a marble portico into the atrium of the villa. The space was dominated by a large shallow pool with a tessellated image of Neptune and shoals of fish decorating the bottom. On the far side a short colonnaded hall led out on to a terrace. Through large doors to the right, Cato could hear voices, laughing and talking light-heartedly. There was a smaller opening to the left, leading down to the quarters of the slaves and lesser officials.
‘This way, sir.’ The optio gestured to Cato, who followed him across the atrium and down the corridor on to the terrace. A wide expanse of pink-hued marble stretched out before them and ended abruptly fifty paces away. Potted plants and trellised walkways surrounded the terrace, which afforded spectacular views across the sea towards the mainland. Cato could understand why the island had been the favourite playground of the imperial family for so many years.
There was only one other man on the terrace and he sat on a bench with his back to Cato.
‘There you are, sir.’ The optio halted and indicated the seated figure. ‘I’ll see you back at the gate, sir. To log you out.’ The optio saluted and turned and marched into the villa. Cato continued across the terrace. Narcissus’s thin frame was wrapped in a plain red cloak and his dark hair was threaded with grey. He glanced back as he heard Cato’s footsteps and offered a smile that lacked any real warmth.
‘Cato, it is good to see you again, my boy. Sit down.’ He gestured towards another bench, set at an angle to the one he was seated on. A small table stood in front of the benches and a thin wisp of vapour rose from a goblet of heated wine. There was only one cup, Cato noted. This was typical of Narcissus, Cato thought, a small trick to remind him of his subordination, and put him in his place.
Cato eased himself down on to the seat indicated and Narcissus looked him over for a moment before he spoke. ‘You’ve been wounded recently. That’s quite a scar.’
Cato shrugged.
‘It’s been a while since we have spoken,’ Narcissus continued.
‘Over two years. When you sent Macro and me to spy on the governor of Syria.’
‘And you both made a good job of that, as well as playing a leading role in saving Palmyra from the Parthians. Since then, you’ve done sterling work in Crete, and Sempronius informed me that he had sent you to find the slave rebel, Ajax.’ Narcissus reached inside his cloak and pulled out a scroll. ‘And now the governor of Egypt, our good friend Petronius, reports that you have resolved the matter. Well done. However, he takes you to task for letting the Nubian Prince go.’ Narcissus watched Cato closely. ‘Would you care to explain why you did so?’
‘It was my judgement that the gladiator presented the greater threat, taking the wider picture into consideration,’ Cato said firmly.
‘The wider picture.’ Narcissus smiled faintly. ‘It seems I was right about you. You have the brains to consider the strategic situation in making your decisions.’ He tossed the report on the table dismissively. ‘Petronius is a fool. Your judgement was sound, young man, though you have made an enemy of Petronius, and there will be plenty in Rome who will not appreciate the nuances of your dilemma. Be that as it may, rest assured I accept what you did as the appropriate course of action, though I will not say so in public, nor will there be any official recognition of your achievement in hunting down that infernal gladiator.’ Narcissus smiled apologetically before he continued. ‘Then there is the difficult matter of Senator Sempronius’s decision to appoint you to the rank of prefect. He did so in the name of the Emperor, I understand. However, he exceeded his authority. Of course there was something of an emergency to deal with and both the Emperor and I approve of the actions Sempronius undertook to put an end to the slave revolt in Crete and send you and Macro to hunt down the ringleaders.’ Narcissus gestured towards the report. ‘Now the crisis has passed and the danger is over. You have my thanks. You and your comrade, Macro.’
Cato bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.
‘However,’ Narcissus continued, ‘such a rapid progression through the ranks is bound to raise a few eyebrows and ruffle a few feathers, eh? Emperor Claudius is always mindful of the need not to upset those in the military, some of whom are not as loyal as they should be. The murder of his predecessor is eloquent proof of that. Which means that you present him with something of a difficulty.’