The Gladiator

'Come on then, you bastards! See how a Roman dies!'

There was no response, just a deathly cold in their eyes as the horsemen clopped towards them. Julia took Macro's elbow and he felt her tremble as she spoke.

'Macro, don't let them take me. Please.'

He felt an icy sense of dread clench round his heart at her words.

There was no avoiding what he must do. Macro felt sick. He swallowed back the bile and turned towards her.

'I'm so sorry, miss.'

She glanced past him to the approaching men, then grasped his shoulders and stared into his eyes.' Do it quickly!'

Macro's features twisted into an expression of agonised helplessness, then he nodded and lowered the bloodied tip of his sword to rest against her stomach, just under her rib cage. Her body was warm to the touch even though she was shivering. She clenched her eyes shut and took a last gasping breath as one of the men shouted a warning and they rushed forward.

'The gods save you, Cato my love,' she whispered. 'Macro, I'm ready. Do it.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It was taking far too long for the force to assemble, Cato fretted irritably as he made his way along the breakwater extending from the old royal quarter into the great harbour. To his left there was a mass of commercial shipping riding at anchor waiting for a berth, and beyond lay the Heptastadion - the long causeway stretching from the mainland to the island of Pharos. As he glanced at it, Cato could not help admiring the ambition of the Alexandrines once again. The city was full of wonders, as he had discovered while waiting for Petronius to assemble the relief force to be sent to Crete.

The library had overawed him. Never before had he seen such a concentration of learning. In addition to the vast number of books on every conceivable subject, the place was filled with scholars quietly discussing shared interests, or locked in vehement dispute over some point.

He sat down on the steps of the Temple of Timon at the end of the breakwater. From there he had a good view of the fleet assembling in the royal harbour. In addition to a squadron of warships, Petronius had provided four light scouting ships of the same class that Cato and Macro had served aboard when they had been seconded to the fleet at Rave

The decision of who to appoint as commander of the force had proved to be a delicate matter. In addition to the experienced officers commanding the legionary cohorts, as well as the auxiliary units, Petronius had a number of military tribunes on his staff who claimed the command for themselves. Cato had reminded the legate that Sempronius would be making his own decision with respect to appointing a commander of the relief force when it reached Crete.

Moreover, he had asked that Cato himself be the commander of the forces while they were en route to the province. In the end Petronius had appointed the senior centurion of the Twenty-Second to the post, until they arrived at Gortyna. Decius Fulvius was a scarred, bald veteran with the build of a boxer, who could bellow like a bull. Cato was impressed by his competence and aura of authority, and accepted the legate's decision.

Even though the commander had been appointed and the ships were ready, the auxiliary units were still on the march and would not reach the city for another day, Cato had been informed. The prefects, long used to the comfortable garrison duties of Egypt, had proved reluctant to be sent on campaign and had made every excuse to delay their departure, until the legate had threatened to replace them on his own authority and report the matter to the emperor. That had done the trick and the two cohorts had set off at once.

It had been several days since he had arrived in Alexandria, Cato reflected in a depressed mood as he found some shade on the steps of the temple and gazed out to sea. Some where out there lay the island of Crete, where his friends were in danger. They needed him and he was stuck here in Alexandria, dragging his heels until the relief force was ready to set sail. He thought longingly of Julia, and for a moment he closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sea breeze, letting it caress his skin as she was wont to do so lightly with her fingertips that it made his body tremble at the sensation. He could not wait to be in her arms again, to hold her body against his and kiss her.

Abruptly he stopped himself pursuing that line of thought. The consequences would be embarrassing in such a public space, and the agony of her absence would only depress him further and make him more anxious over having to wait for the fleet to set sail from Alexandria. As he opened his eyes, he felt the wind strengthen, and the awning over a nearby fish stall billowed up and snapped taut. The stallkeeper was already looking anxiously to the west as he began to pack his goods away into baskets to carry back down the breakwater into the city. Cato rose from the steps and walked round to the far side of the temple. The sky beyond the Heptastadion was dark and cloudy and the swell in the harbour was more noticeable. A storm was coming, blowing in from the west.

For a moment Cato watched the horizon, won de ring if he should return to the quarters the legate had provided for him in the palace that had once been the home of the Ptolemaic pharaohs. There he would be forced to endure the empty conversation and mindless entertainments of Petronius's bored staff officers as the storm broke outside. The thought soured him, and he resolved to stay and watch.

A fresh blast of wind buffeted him and he turned to see that the storm was almost upon him. Great waves were crashing against the foot of the lighthouse across the bay and bursting in massive clouds of spray swept on by the rising wind. Out to sea, a grey curtain of rain was sweeping towards the coast beneath dark clouds that smeared the sky along the horizon.

The rain began in earnest, stinging his face, and Cato could not help shivering slightly in the cold wind moaning around the temple.

All at once there was a dazzling flash of light and a moment later the muffled metallic crash of thunder, as the storm struck the port. A cargo ship, a mile out, was battling to reach the harbour, almost all the sail reefed in as her bows burst through one wave after another.

Suddenly the distant sail collapsed; Cato saw that the mast had snapped, and sail, spar, and rigging tumbled over the side. As the tangled wreckage hit the water, it acted as a brake, savagely dragging the ship over to one side as it turned its beam towards the great waves rolling in from the heart of the sea. For an instant Cato could make out the men crouching on the deck. Then a huge grey wall crashed over the ship, engulfing it. The keel broke the surface, like the spine of a whale, and settled in the water; then the next wave washed over it and the ship was gone. Cato stared at the spot, willing there to be some sign of survivors, but there was nothing, and the curiosity of before turned to horror at the sudden extinction of the ship and its entire crew.

'Poor bastards,' he muttered, then turned away and walked slowly towards the shelter of the temple, as the wind-fa

Two days later, early in the morning, the fleet was ready to sail.

Petronius came down to the dock in the royal harbour to bid farewell to Cato and First Spear Centurion Decius Fulvius. The storm had passed the day after it had struck and several ships had foundered in the commercial harbour. Fortunately the fleet had lost only one trireme, which had dragged its anchors and been holed when it struck the breakwater.