The Gladiator

  This book is for Mick Webb and the staff of Stoke Holy Cross Primary School. Thank you for everything you have done for my sons, Joe and Nick.

  Once again, my heartfelt thanks to my wife, Carolyn, for road-testing each chapter as it came off the word-processor. Also to my agent, Meg, and surely one of the best editors in the business, Marion, who always manages to rein in my excesses and point me towards a leaner, cleaner tale. Finally, huge thanks to my son Joe, who now has an encyclopaedic knowledge of the series and thus saved me from making a very embarrassing error. Joe, you’re a star.

  THE HEART OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE 49AD.

  ROMAN PROVINCE OF CRETE

  CHAPTER ONE

  We should reach Matala on the next tack,’ announced the captain as he shaded his eyes and gazed at the coastline of Crete off the starboard beam, burnished by the late afternoon sun.

  Beside him on the deck stood some of his passengers, a Roman senator, his daughter and two centurions, bound for Rome.The four had boarded at Caesarea together with the daughter’s maidservant, a young Judaean girl. The captain was proud of his vessel. The Horus was an old ship from Alexandria, retired from the fleet that shipped grain across the Mediterranean to Rome. Despite her years she was still a tough, seaworthy vessel and the captain was confident and experienced enough to take her out of the sight of land when necessary. Accordingly, the Horus had headed directly out to sea when she left the port of Caesarea, and had made landfall off the coast of Crete three days later.

  ‘Will we arrive at Matala before night?’ asked the senator.

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’ The captain smiled faintly. ‘And I’m not going to attempt an approach in the dark. The Horus has a full hold and rides low in the water. Can’t risk running her up on any rocks.’

  ‘So what happens tonight then?’

  The captain pursed his lips briefly. ‘We’ll have to stand off the coast, hove to until dawn. Means I’ll lose a day, but that can’t be helped. Best offer a quick prayer to Poseidon that we make up the time after we leave Matala.’

  The older centurion let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Bloody sea travel. Never straightforward. Should have taken the land route.’

  The other officer, a tall, slender man with a curly mop of dark hair, laughed and slapped his stout comrade on the shoulder. ‘I thought I was the impatient one! Easy there, Macro, we’ll still reach Romelong before we ever could if we had gone by land.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune. Thought you were the one who hated the sea.’

  ‘I’m not fond of it, but I have my reasons for wanting to reach Rome as soon as I can.’

  ‘No doubt.’ Centurion Macro winked, with a faint nod towards the senator’s daughter. ‘I’ll just be glad to get a new posting. Back with the legions, permanently. The gods know we’ve done enough to earn it, Cato, my friend. Two years on the eastern frontier. I’ve had my fill of heat, sand and thirst. Next time I want a nice cushy post somewhere in Gaul. Somewhere I can rest a while.’

  ‘That’s what you say now.’ Cato laughed. ‘But I know you, Macro. You’d be bored witless before the month was out.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’d like to get back to some proper soldiering. No more doing the dirty work of the imperial palace for me.’

  Cato nodded with feeling. Ever since they had carried out their first mission for Narcissus, the emperor’s private secretary and head of the imperial spy network, Macro and Cato had faced perils from every quarter, besides the usual dangers of being soldiers. Cato’s expression hardened. ‘I fear that’s rather out of our control. The more problems we solve, the greater the chance that we’ll be called on again.’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ Macro muttered. ‘Shit . . .’

  Then, remembering that the senator and his daughter were present, he glanced at them apologetically and cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, miss. Pardon my Gallic.’

  The senator smiled. ‘We’ve heard worse in recent months, Centurion Macro. In fact I think we have become rather used to the rough ways of soldiers. Otherwise I’d hardly countenance the attention Cato has been showing my daughter, eh?’

  She grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Father, I’ll tame him sure enough.’

  Cato smiled as she took his arm and gave it an affectionate squeeze.The captain looked at them and scratched his chin.

  ‘Getting married then, Miss Julia?’ She nodded. ‘As soon as we return to Rome.’ ‘Damn, had hoped to ask for your hand myself,’ the captain joked.

  He examined Cato briefly. The centurion’s features were unmarked by the scars one tended to see on the faces of experienced soldiers.

  He was also, by far, the youngest centurion the Greek sea captain had ever met, barely in his twenties, and he could not help wondering if such a man could only have been promoted to the rank through the patronage of a powerful friend. But the medallions fixed to the centurion’s harness spoke of real achievements, hard won. Clearly there was far more to Centurion Cato than the captain had first thought. By contrast, Centurion Macro looked every inch the hard fighting man. Shorter by a head, but built like a bull, with well- muscled limbs on which numerous scars clearly showed. Some fifteen years older than his comrade, he had cropped dark hair and piercing brown eyes, yet the creases in his face hinted at a humorous side, should a suitable occasion arise.

  The captain turned his attention back to the younger officer, with a touch of envy. If he married into a senatorial family, then Centurion Cato was set up for the rest of his life. Money, social position and career preferment would be his for the taking. That said, it was clear to the captain that the affection between the young centurion and the senator’s daughter was real enough. At the end of each day the two of them were on deck to watch the sun set, arms around each other as they gazed across the sparkling waves.

  As evening approached the Horus steered parallel to the coast, passing one of the bays that the captain had become familiar with in the long years that he served aboard merchant vessels sailing the length and breadth of the Mediterranean. While the sun slipped below the horizon, brilliantly gilding the edges of the island’s mountains and hills, those on deck stared towards the shore. A large agricultural estate lay close to the sea, and in the gathering dusk, long lines of slaves returned from their labours in the fields, groves and vineyards. Shuffling wearily, they were herded back into their compound by overseers with whips and clubs.

  Cato felt Julia tremble at his side and turned to her. ‘Cold?’

  ‘No. It’s just that.’ She indicated the last of the slaves entering the compound, and then the gates were shut and barred. ‘A terrible existence for any man or woman.’

  ‘But you have slaves at home.’ ‘ O f course, but they are well cared for and have a degree of liberty in Rome. Not like those poor souls. Worked hard from first light to last. Treated no better than farm animals.’

  Cato thought a moment before responding. ‘That is the common lot ofslaves.Whether they work on estates like that one, or in mines, or construction sites. It is only a small portion of them that are lucky enough to live in households like yours, or even to have the chance to train in the gladiator camps.’

  ‘Gladiators?’ Julia looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘Lucky? How could you consider anyone lucky who suffered such a fate?’

  Cato shrugged. ‘The training is hard, but once that’s done they don’t have it so bad. Their owners take good care of them and the best fighters make small fortunes and enjoy the high life.’

  ‘As long as they survive in the arena.’

  ‘True, but they risk no more than any man in the legions, and have a far more comfortable life than most. If they live long enough, gladiators can win their freedom and retire wealthy men. Only a handful of s
oldiers ever achieve that.’

  ‘Too bloody true,’ Macro grumbled. ‘I wonder if it’s too late to retrain as a gladiator.’

  Julia stared at him. ‘I am sure you don’t mean that.’ ‘Why not? If I am going to kill people then I might as well be nicely paid for it.’ Senator Sempronius chuckled at the disgusted expression on his daughter’s face. ‘Ignore him, my child. Centurion Macro is joking. He fights for the glory of Rome, not a slave’s purse, no matter how loaded with gold.’

  Macro cocked an eyebrow. ‘Now who’s joking?’

  Cato smiled and then looked back towards the shore. The slave compound was an ugly blot on the side of the hill overlooking the bay. All was still, save for a single flickering torch above the gate, and the dim form ofa sentry standing close by as he kept watch over the slaves inside. This was the industrial side of slavery, which was largely invisible to most Romans, especially those well born, like Senator Sempronius and his daughter. The perfumed, uniformed slaves of a rich household were a far cry from the ragged masses who laboured in work camps, always tired and hungry and carefully watched for any sign of rebellion, which would be punished with brutal swiftness and severity.

  It was a harsh regime, but the empire, and indeed every civilised nation that Cato knew of, depended on slavery to create wealth and feed its urban multitudes. For Cato it was a harsh reminder of the terrible differences in destiny that fate dealt out to people. The worst excesses of slavery were a blight on the world, he reflected, even if the institution was, for the present, a necessity.

  He suddenly felt a faint tremor in the deck beneath his boots and glanced down.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Macro growled. ‘Do you feel that?’ Julia grabbed Cato’s arm. ‘What is it? What’s happening?’

  There were cries ofsurprise and alarm across the deck as the crew and other passengers of the Horus glanced down at the deck.

  ‘We’ve run aground,’ said Sempronius, as he gripped the side rail.

  The captain shook his head. ‘Impossible! We’re too far off the shore. I know these waters. There’s no shallows for fifty miles. I swear it. In any case . . . Look there! At the sea.’

  The captain thrust out his arm and the others followed the direction and saw that the surface of the water was shimmering faintly. For a brief time that seemed far longer than it was, the dull shudder of the deck and the quivering surface of the sea continued. Several of those on board fell to their knees and began to pray fervently to the gods. Cato held Julia in his arms and stared over her head at his friend. Macro gritted his teeth and glared back, hands clenched into fists at his sides. For the first time, Cato thought he saw a glimmer of fear in the other man’s eyes, even as he wondered what was happening.

  ‘A sea monster,’ Macro said quietly. ‘Sea monster?’ ‘Has to be. Oh, shit, why the hell did I agree to travel by sea?’ Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the faint shuddering stopped and a moment later the surface ofthe sea returned to its steady chop as the Horus gently rose and dipped on the easy swell. For a moment no one on the ship moved or spoke, as if they were waiting for the strange phenomenon to begin again. Julia cleared her throat. ‘Do you think it’s over, whatever it was?’

  ‘No idea,’ Cato replied softly.

  The brief exchange had broken the spell. Macro puffed his cheeks as he let out a deep breath and the ship’s captain turned away from his passengers and scowled at the steersman. The latter had released his grip on the tiller of the great paddle at the stern of the Horus and was cowering beneath the fantail decoration overhanging the stern post. Already the ship was slowly swinging round into the wind.

  ‘What in Hades do you think you’re doing?’ the captain blazed at the steersman. ‘Return to your bloody post and get us back on course.’

  As the steersman hurriedly took up the tiller, the captain turned round to glare at the other sailors. ‘Back to work! Move yourselves.’ His men reluctantly returned to their duties as they adjusted the sail that had begun to flutter at the edges as the Horus luffed up for a moment, before the steersman leaned into the tiller and the ship settled back on to her original course.

  Macro licked his lips nervously. ‘Is it really over?’

  Cato sensed the deck under his feet, and glanced at the sea, which looked just as it had before the tremor had begun. ‘Seems to be.’

  ‘Thank the gods.’ Julia nodded, then her eyes widened as she recalled her maid, who had been resting on her mat in the small cabin she shared with her mistress and the senator. ‘I’d better check on Jesmiah. Poor girl will be terrified.’

  Cato released her from his arms and Julia hurried across the deck towards the narrow gangway leading down to the passengers’ quarters, where those who could afford it had paid for a cabin. The rest ofthe passengers simply lived and slept on the deck of the Horus.

  As Julia disappeared from sight, a faint cry reached them from the shore and Cato, Macro and Sempronius turned towards the land. Though the light was dim, they could clearly see figures stumbling away from the estate’s slave compound. Or what was left of it. The walls had been flattened, exposing the barrack blocks inside. Only two were still standing; the rest were in ruins.

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Macro stared at the ruins. ‘What could have done that?’

  ‘An earthquake,’ said Sempronius. ‘Has to be. I’ve experienced something like it before while I was serving as a tribune in Bythinia. The earth shook, and there was a dull roar. It went on for some moments, and shook some buildings to pieces. Those inside were crushed and buried under the rubble.’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘Hundreds died . . .’

  ‘But if it’s an earthquake, then why were we affected, out here at sea?’

  ‘I don’t know, Macro. The work of the gods is beyond the understanding of men.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Cato remarked. ‘But surely, if the tremor on land is severe enough, it would communicate itself through the water to us?’

  ‘That may be so,’ Sempronius admitted. ‘In any case, we’re the lucky ones. It is those on land who will have felt the full power of the gods’ wrath.’

  For a moment the three men stared towards the ruined slave compound, slowly slipping into the distance as the Horus sailed steadily away from the coast. A fire had broken out in the ruins, most likely from the kitchens preparing the evening meal, Cato decided. Flames licked up into the dusk, illuminating the shocked figures of the survivors. A handful were desperately picking away at the rubble to free those trapped beneath. Cato shook his head in pity.

  ‘Be thankful we are at sea. I would not want to be ashore now. You should be grateful for that at least, Macro.’

  ‘Really?’ Macro replied quietly. ‘What makes you think the gods have finished with us yet?’

  ‘Deck there!’ a voice suddenly cried from aloft. ‘Captain, look!’

  T h e sailor sitting astride the spar close to the top of the mast had thrust his spare arm out, along the coast to the west.

  ‘Make your report properly!’ the captain bellowed up to him. What do you see?’

  There was a pause before the sailor replied anxiously. ‘I don’t know, sir. Never seen its like. A line, like a wall, right across the sea.’

  ‘Nonsense, man! That’s impossible.’ ‘Sir, I swear, that’s what it looks like.’ ‘Fool!’ The captain crossed to the side of the ship, swung himself up on to the ratlines and began to clamber aloft to join the lookout. ‘Now then, you bloody fool, where is this wall of yours?’

  The lookout thrust his hand towards the horizon, into the fading light of the setting sun. At first the captain could see little as he squinted. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the distant gleam, he saw it. A faint glitter of reflected light rippling along the horizon, above a dark band that stretched from out to sea right up to the coast of Crete. Where it touched the land there was a churning foam of water.

  ‘Mother of Zeus,’ the captain muttered as his guts instantly turned to ice. The lookout was right. There was
a wall ahead of the Horus, a wall of water. A vast tidal wave was sweeping along the coast directly towards the ship, no more than two or three miles away and racing towards them faster than the swiftest of horses.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Atidal wave?’ Cato’s eyes widened. ‘How big?’ ‘Big as a bloody cliff,’ the captain replied. ‘And heading this way, straight along the coast.’

  ‘Then we must alter course,’ said Sempronius. ‘Get out of its way’

  ‘There’s no time for that. In any case, the wave stretched as far as I could see. We can’t avoid it.’

  The senator and the two centurions stared at the captain for a moment before Sempronius spoke again. ‘So, what now?’

  ‘Now?’ The captain gave a brittle laugh. ‘We say our prayers and make our final farewells and wait until the wave hits us.’

  Cato shook his head. ‘No. There has to be something you can do to save the ship.’

  ‘There’s nothing, I’m telling you,’ the captain said bleakly. ‘You haven’t seen the size of that thing yet. But you will, any moment.’

  All eyes turned towards the horizon, and then Cato noticed what looked like a dark shadow on the rim of the world, at the moment only a fine line and one that looked wholly unthreatening as yet. He stared at it briefly before turning back towards the captain. ‘You’ve been in storms before, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Storms are one thing. A tidal wave is something else. There’s no hope for us.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Macro growled, and then grabbed the captain’s tunic in both hands and drew the Greek close to his face. ‘There’s always hope. I haven’t survived fuck knows how many fights and injuries just to die on this tub. N o w then, I ain’t a sailor. That’s your job. You’ve got a dangerous situation on your hands. So you deal with it. Do what you can to give us the best chance to live through this. You understand me?’ He gave the captain a shake. ‘Well?’

  The Greek wilted before the intense gaze of the centurion and nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can.’