There was only the moon light overhead and two torches behind the sentries to illuminate the area. Gaius was, however, moving within the shadows of the fence, which concealed him entirely.
Maurus, who had joined Gaius’ group, came from the opposite direction. He couldn’t see him, but knew if they timed it right that they would be able to attack the sentries from their blind sides. Then, Gaius caught the glint of white in Maurus’ eyes as he saw that he was in position. He had a few extra feet to cover before he could attack his target, so he would have to lead, putting himself in danger for just a fraction of a second before Maurus could drop the second sentry.
Don’t fuck this up, Gaius thought to himself as he moved forward, down low in a crouch as he held his dagger out before him and inched his way to his target.
He waited as the furthest sentry took a swig from the jug, which blinded him for a moment before he leaped up and attacked the closer of the two.
Gaius didn’t make a sound, save for the sudden ruffling of the grass under his feet as he charged forward.
The first sentry barely had time to react before the sharp point of Gaius’ dagger tore through the back of the man’s neck, ripping out through his throat.
The man tried to scream, but no words left his mouth as bubbles of blood and gargling mutters of death could be uttered.
The sentry with the jug quickly realized what happened as he dropped the vase, which shattered on the ground, then attempted to reach for his sword. However, his head was suddenly jerked backward as a second dagger, Maurus’ was thrust repeatedly into his lower back.
Both sentries dropped to the ground nearly at the same time before the two Romans hurriedly grabbed the dead bodies before any of the nearby gladiators saw what they had done, and hid them between the fence and shadows, before both rapidly darted into the camp.
Gaius and Maurus, plus Cato ducked behind a series of small tents that were set near the outer perimeter. They waited a moment to see if there was any sudden call for alarm, but after a full minute, they heard no change, just the screaming of Romans and the joyful laughter of the gladiators. They then quietly moved through the rest of the camp.
As Gaius reached one bend, he stopped and put his back up against the side of the goat skin tent. Maurus quickly darted over to the opposite side. Between them were two drunken gladiators who stood no more than thirty feet from either of them. They were talking to one another, as one of the men was peeing on the ground, seemly making a joke about his ability to write his name with his piss, which the other gladiator thought was hilarious.
When the man was done, they turned and continued towards Gaius and Maurus’ direction, passing a small wine skin between each other.
Gaius had his sword drawn and attacked the man who was drinking. The sudden shock of iron ripping through his guts caused the man to spit out a mouthful of wine, which was quickly followed by blood.
The second man hadn’t any time to react either as Maurus plunged his sword right through the man’s chest.
They let the two bodies’ fall where they lay as their blood mixed into the already wet mud, before Gaius and his party quickly continued forward.
A short time later it was Cato that got the next kill, as the three came across a man who stood over a large water barrel, and as the man dip, his head into the water Cato stepped behind him and thrust his sword down into the back of the man’s skull. The gladiator’s body hemorrhaged as his death grip held on both sides of the barrel. It was only when Cato removed his sword did the man finally fall down to his knees; his dead weight knocking over the drum in the process.
With that last gladiator dead, Gaius had a clear run to the pit that several dozen Roman prisoners were being held in. They were attached to one another by a series of ropes. Most of them seemed in good health as they were apparently waiting for their turn to be tortured, but hadn’t been harmed beyond that.
One of them noticed Gaius as he hid down low behind a stack of looted crates, taken from nearby towns. The soldier, from what Gaius could tell looked to be an officer, perhaps a centurion, who looked for a long few seconds before he realized that the mud covered man was one of his countrymen.
Gaius held up his finger to his lips and singled for the man to remain quiet, as he wasn’t the only Roman to have noticed him by now.
The centurion nodded and with only a glance of his eyes indicated that there was a guard just out of Gaius’ sight.
Gaius inched forward just enough to poke his head around the stack of crates and saw that one of the gladiators stood guard in front of the pit. He was awake, but seemly just barely, as he had to use the long spear, he held to keep himself propped up.
Another guard sat by the far corner asleep; a spilt clay jug lying next to his feet.
Gaius indicated for Maurus to take care of the sleeping man, while he positioned to take out the standing sentry.
Cato covered their rear.
Gaius felt his heart racing as he neared the standing man. He heard only a faint gushing sound behind him as Maurus ran his knife across the sleeping man’s throat. He didn’t wake, but sat where he had been, seemly still asleep, despite globs of thick blood running down his chest.
The sentry before Gaius yawned, which Gaius used for his advantage. However, as he rose to attack, the gladiator heard him and instantly reacted.
Years in the arena had given the man an uncanny ability to react quickly, as he shifted his stance just enough that the tip of Gaius’ sword missed his neck by a fraction of an inch.
Gaius knew he had ruined his opportunity. The guard would yell and engage him, and even if he managed to kill him, it wouldn’t take much effort for more of the gladiators to come running. Gratefully, on any given day, save for this night, the gladiator might have been an equal match. Unfortunately, for him, the man was so drunk that he lost his balance, as he had dodged Gaius’ first and failed attack that the gladiator tripped over his own feet, falling face down into the mud, which thankfully prevented him from sounding the alarm.
Gaius didn’t give the gladiator the chance to rise to his feet. He slammed his left foot down onto the man’s back, pinning him to the ground, and then shoved his sword through the back of his head. As he turned, Maurus and Cato were already cutting the Romans free.
Gaius hurried over to the centurion who had seen him first and cut the man loose.
“We didn’t know anyone else had survived the battle. Who are you?” the man asked as Gaius helped the officer to his feet.
“Gaius, prefect of the Sixth Legion, and we weren’t at Cannae. We were reassigned the night before,” Gaius answered as he helped free the remaining soldiers.
“Well, I guess that explains that then. I hope there are more of you on the way.”
Gaius smiled as he handed over one of the dead gladiator’s weapons to the centurion.
“Oh, quite a bit more. Do you think you, and your men are up for a fight?” Gaius asked.
“We are, sir.”
Each of the Romans who were with him grinned, and while all were weak and tired, they were indeed ready for some payback.
“Good. I have more men freeing other prisoners and eliminating the sentry posts. A cohort of horsemen will be coming through this camp in about fifteen minutes. When they do, I need you and your men to attack with anything you can find; your teeth and nails if you have too. Kill as many of these bastards as you can — no mercy for any of them. You hear me, soldier?”
“Oh, we hear you, sir,” the centurion smiled.
Gaius was about to turn and head off, but the centurion grabbed his arm and stopped him.
“Wait, sir. You have to free the consul. The slaves are keeping him alive for Hannibal, but I’m sure they’ll kill him the second your men show up.”