‘We’ll have to come back for him; at least we now have the men to do that.’
The auxiliaries were brought to Grey-beard and Ahmose who both counted them off; once satisfied they nodded to each other and Ahmose led his men and the auxiliaries away from the camp while their unfortunate replacements were taken off to the corral.
‘Where’s Capella?’ Vespasian asked Ahmose upon his return.
‘They wouldn’t exchange him.’
‘Wouldn’t or was the price too high?’
‘I had to give him an extra five of my own men just to get back the ones I sold him yesterday,’ the priest barked. ‘I can’t afford any more.’
‘An extra five of your own men? You mean to say that none of those men you bartered were slaves?’
‘We don’t have slaves, it’s pointless, the Marmaridae steal them. I had to give them free men from the town. They drew lots and those who lost were willing to go with the blessing of Amun upon their heads.’
Vespasian stared at the priest in disbelief. ‘You sold your own people into slavery?’
‘It was Amun’s will; you heard the priests say so at the Oracle.’
‘But why didn’t you try and buy my men back with the silver that the Marmaridae paid for them?’
Ahmose frowned as if he could not understand the question. ‘That silver is Amun’s.’
‘And Amun would put more value on it than the lives of those men?’
The priest shrugged.
‘Of course he wouldn’t, but you would; living in comfort while all those around you have to toil in the heat; you disgust me, priest. We’ll go back to your town where you’ll lend me all of your fighting men, because I’m not leaving here without Capella and freeing those poor bastards who you sacrificed to your greed.’
‘You can’t do that; the will of Amun must be obeyed.’
‘His will or yours, priest?’
‘Vespasian, you Sabine country bastard, you left me to the slavers,’ Corvinus shouted storming up to him, ‘I’ll not forget that.’
‘I had no choice, you were dead drunk and slowing us down. And I would remind you, prefect, that I came back for you and your men and you are now free because of me, which wouldn’t have happened if we were all imprisoned in that corral together; so don’t forget that part of it either.’
‘And learn to hold your drink,’ Magnus advised him, ‘then perhaps you won’t find yourself taken prisoner so easily.’
Corvinus lashed out with his right fist at Magnus, who ducked under it and delivered a solid punch into his belly.
‘You picked the wrong man to box with,’ Magnus said as Corvinus crumpled to the floor, ‘I used to do it professionally.’
Vespasian came between them. ‘That’s enough! Get to your feet, Corvinus, and next time we rescue you I suggest that you say thank you rather than picking a fight and insulting me.’
The prefect looked up at Vespasian with hatred in his eyes. ‘You’ll regret this one day, quaestor, I promise you that.’
‘We’ll see; in the meantime we’ve got a citizen to rescue who’s about to suffer the same fate that you’ve just been saved from. Now go and see if any of your lads speak the local language.’
Two hours later they arrived back at the town’s agora. It was deserted; a few lamps burned behind shuttered windows.
‘Rouse your people, Ahmose,’ Vespasian ordered, ‘you and I are going to address them.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now! And you will translate for me. And have my men’s swords retrieved from wherever you’ve hidden them.’
The priest issued a command to his men and they fanned out through the town banging on doors and ordering the people to the agora.
Soon the square, now lit by flickering torches, was full of chattering people curious to know what was occurring. Vespasian, followed by Magnus and Ziri, mounted the temple steps with Ahmose and the auxiliary who Corvinus had found who spoke the local Siwi language.
‘You’re to make sure that he translates everything correctly,’ Vespasian told the auxiliary, as Corvinus’ men, now rearmed with their spathae, took up position at the foot of the steps, ‘and when he refuses to, which he will, you will make the translation.’
‘Yes, quaestor.’
‘Ahmose, bring them to order.’
A horn sounded and the noise in the agora died down.
Vespasian stepped forward to address the crowd. ‘Two nights ago the Bennu was reborn to begin its new five-hundred-year cycle,’ he declaimed. He paused as Ahmose translated his words. After a quick glance at the auxiliary to confirm that the translation was true he continued. ‘I was warmed by its fire and felt the wind of its wings and your priest took me to the temple of Amun where the god spoke to me.’
There were looks of awe on the faces of those listening as Ahmose repeated this line.
‘I am blessed by Amun and I and all who travel with me are under His protection. Yet your priest sold my companions, Roman soldiers, to the Marmaridae.’
Ahmose shot Vespasian a nervous glance.
‘Translate, priest,’ he ordered.
After the priest had spoken Vespasian turned to the auxiliary who shook his head. ‘He didn’t translate the second sentence; he just made something up about the glory of Amun.’
‘What a surprise. Do it for him, then.’
As the auxiliary translated the real version a look of surprise turning to panic washed over Ahmose’s face as he realised that he was losing any control that he had over the situation.
‘To buy them back he used thirty-two of your compatriots; free men now forced into slavery by your priest.’
‘I did it for Amun,’ Ahmose shouted at Vespasian.
‘No, you do nothing for Amun, everything you do is for your-self, like so many of your kind. Now, are you going to translate or is he?’
With a howl Ahmose leapt at Vespasian only to find himself pinioned by the firm grips of Magnus and Ziri. Vespasian nodded at the auxiliary as the priest struggled helplessly to escape his captors.
Roars of indignation emanated from the crowd as the auxiliary translated; they began to surge forward only to be held back by Corvinus’ men.
Vespasian held his arms aloft, appealing for calm. ‘This priest of yours, who lives in luxury off the money you give him, has no concern for your wellbeing, only his.’
The crowd shouted their agreement as they heard the translation.
‘He delivered Roman soldiers and your own people to the slavers and in doing so has brought the wrath of Rome and Amun down on you all. To redress his actions I will lead you tonight to the Marmaridae’s camp and we shall destroy them together and free your people.’
A huge cheer greeted these words once they were translated.
‘But first, I, who am favoured by your god, demand vengeance on this priest for his treatment of my men; his life is forfeit.’ Ahmose’s legs buckled; Magnus and Ziri held him upright. ‘I could execute him now or, if you wish it, I will give you your priest, who thinks nothing of selling thirty-two of your number into a life of servitude, to punish as you see fit; you are free of him.’
As the auxiliary finished the translation the crowd’s reaction was clear; Vespasian gestured to Magnus and Ziri. They forced the screaming Ahmose down the steps, through the cordon of auxiliaries, and threw him to the people who kept him in luxury yet whom he valued so little.
With animal ferocity they drew him into their midst, feet, fists and nails lashing at him, their cries of hatred drowning his shrieks as they battered and pummelled him mercilessly. Vespasian and his companions watched with grim satisfaction as the bloodied priest was hurled, wailing, into the air to be caught by many pairs of hands. Gripping his ankles and wrists strong men pulled Ahmose, eyes bulging with fear and agony, in opposing directions; others cut at his body with knives, concentrating on his joints. His shoulders and hips dislocated under the pressure, which grew until, to a savage roar from the crowd, his left arm, its sinews severed by multiple slashes, ripped from his shoulder, followed, a moment later, by his right. Ahmose’s head crashed down onto the ground as the macabre trophies were waved in the air. The men holding his ankles then pulled his legs apart, heaving on them with all their might, rending the ligaments and muscles until the right leg parted at the knee in a welter of blood. Unable to tear any more off him the crowd then took it in turns to batter out of Ahmose what little remaining life was left in him with his own dismembered limbs.