The Gladiator

He pulled on his boots and laced them up before hurrying out of the tent. Before him lay the camp, the men calmly going about their morning duties as they cleaned their mess tins and packed them away in their kit sacks before making ready their armour and weapons for morning inspection. Centurion Fulvius was sitting at a table in front of one of the other tents, writing notes on a wax tablet. He stood up and saluted as Cato came striding across to him with an icy expression.

'Why was I not woken at the end of the night watch?'

'There was no need, sir.' Fulvius affected a surprised look.' The watch officers had nothing to report and there's been no sign of any movement down at the rebel camp. I was just about to complete the orders for the morning cavalry patrols before I came to wake you.'

Cato lowered his voice so that only Fulvius would hear. 'You know damn well that the senior officer should be woken at first light.'

'I had no orders to that effect, sir.'

'Damn orders, it's customary. Even when a unit is on garrison duties. On campaign there's never any question about it.', Fulvius did not respond, thereby intimating his guilt. Cato glared at him for a moment, and then snorted with derision. 'Tell me, when was the last time you served on a campaign?'

'It's been a while, sir,' Fulvius admitted. 'In my previous legion, on the Danube.'

'How long ago?'

The centurion's gaze wavered. 'Twelve years, sir.'

'And since then you have served in Egypt: garrison duty. Little to keep you occupied but spit and polish and the odd field exercise, eh?'

'Keeps the lads on their toes, sir.'

'I don't doubt it.' Cato recalled the endless drills and route marches of his earliest months in the Second Legion. It was not the readiness of the men he questioned. 'So, having ducked out of the fighting for the last twelve years, you think you are better qualified to lead these men than I am. Is that it?'

'Something like that.' Fulvius was still for a moment and pursed his lips. 'Permission to speak freely, sir?'

'No. Centurion, I am the commander of this column and that fact ends any discussion on this matter. If you question my authority, or undermine established procedures again, I will have you removed from your position and sent back to Gortyna. Is that understood?'

'Yes, sir,' Fulvius replied sourly.

'I will not warn you again,' Cato growled through clenched teeth.

'Now get out of my sight. I want you to do a spot inspection of the first three legionary cohorts, and report back to me once you've done. Go.'

Cato saw a glimmer of anxiety in the veteran's eyes. Then he stood at attention, saluted and strode off to carry out his orders. Cato shook his head, then turned and marched back to his tent, barking at one of the orderlies to bring him some bread, meat and watered wine for breakfast. As he sat and stared down towards the rebel camp, he considered the stand-off once again. Ajax had the grain fleet, and therefore no need to attack the Romans, while Cato risked the loss of the grain fleet if he attacked, as well as having the added concern of commanding toofew men to guarantee victory. Yet time was on the rebels' side, and there was no avoiding the conclusion that Cato would have to attack, whatever the odds.

As he was dipping the last hunk of bread into the bowl of wine, he noticed a movement down at the enemy camp. A small column of riders had emerged from the sprawl of tents and haze of smoke from the camp fires. They passed through their picket line and continued steadily up the slope towards the Roman camp. Cato soon lost sight of them behind the rampart and left the table to fetch his mail vest, helmet and sword belt from the tent, before making his way down to the rampart facing the rebel camp. By the time he reached the rampart the duty centurion had ordered his men to stand to. A cohort of legionaries were spreading out along the beaten earth of the walkway to face the approaching horsemen. Cato glanced at them as he climbed the ladder on to the platform constructed over the timber gates. Fulvius was already there and nodded a greeting to Cato as the latter joined him.

'Looks like the rebels want to talk,' said Fulvius.

Cato saw that there were ten of them, wearing good tunics, scale armour and Roman pattern swords - the spoils of Centurion Marcellus's column. One man carried a long standard with a bright blue pennant, which he waved steadily from side to side as he and his companions walked the mounts forward.

'Nice to see them observing the appropriate formalities,' Fulvius muttered. 'Just like a proper army, eh, sir?'

'Well, they certainly look the part, in our kit.'

'Our kit?' Fulvius's expression darkened.' Oh, yes...Want me to order some of our boys to loose some slingshot in their direction?'

'No,' Cato replied firmly. 'I don't want them touched. The rebels have hostages.'

Fulvius shrugged. 'Assuming they're still alive, sir.'

'They're alive.'

The riders stopped fifty paces from the gate, and then one edged his horse a little closer. Cato saw that he had the dark features of the east, and he wore a curved sword at his side.

Fulvius cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed,'Stop there!'

The rider reined in obediently.

'What do you want?'

'My general wishes to talk with your commander. Here, in the open.'

'Why? Tell us what he wants and go!'

The rider shook his head. 'That is for my general to say'

'Bollocks to him,' Fulvius muttered and drew a deep breath to shout his answer.

'Wait!' said Cato. He turned to Fulvius. 'Keep the men on the rampart, but have a cavalry squadron brought up to the gate, mounted and ready to charge. If I raise my left hand, send them out at once. But only if I give the signal. Is that clear?'

'You're not going out there?' Fulvius arched an eyebrow. 'For fuck's sake, sir. It's a trap. They'll get you out there and cut you down before turning tail and running.'

'Why would they do that?'

'To undermine the column, sir. Take out the commander and it's bound to hit morale, and disrupt the campaign.'

'If it is a trap and they kill me, that makes you the new commander.' Cato looked at him steadily. 'Are you saying you're not up to the job? I thought you wanted it. Maybe this is your chance.'

Centurion Fulvius had the good grace to let a look of shame flit across his features before he composed himself and shook his head.

'Not this way, sir. You watch yourself out there, understand?'

Cato smiled to himself as he turned away and climbed down from the tower. At the bottom he turned to the section of legionaries manning the gate.' Open it up, but be ready to close it quickly if you get the order.'

As the men removed the locking bar and hauled the gate inwards, Fulvius called to one of his officers and gave them orders to have one of the mounted squadrons called to the gate as swiftly as possible.

Cato puffed his cheeks and marched out of the camp, between the two ditches on either side, and on to the clear ground. Ahead of him the horsemen watched in silence. When he reached a point halfway between the gate and the waiting rebels, Cato stopped and called out to the man who had spoken for them.

'I am Tribune Cato, commander of the Roman column and the Roman fleet. Where is your general?'

There was a sudden movement from the rear of the group of horsemen as a rider spurred his horse forward and galloped it up the gentle slope. Cato sucked in a deep breath and his muscles tensed, ready for action. He let his hand drop towards the handle of his sword, where it hovered for an instant before he willed it to settle by his thigh. Straightening his back, he stood his ground and stared defiantly at the approaching horseman. At the last moment the rider reined in, less than ten feet from Cato, showering him with grit. The sun was behind the rebel and Cato had to squint and then raise a hand to shield his eyes. For a moment not a word was spoken, then the rebel gave a soft, menacing chuckle.