Balbus nodded.' Good luck, sir.'
Cato laughed at the navarch's dour tone. 'You seem to make a habit of doubting me. I'll be back, Balbus. I give you my word.'
'Good luck anyway, sir.'
'Thanks.' Cato clapped him on the shoulder, turned to Atticus and the others and led them off to find one of the tenders moored to the remaining grain ships.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The tender grounded on the small strip of sand with a slight jar that sent Atticus sprawling on to his knees.
'Shit,' he muttered as he struggled up and then climbed over the side with the others.
'Better all speak in Greek from now on,' said Cato. 'If we're going to be taken for rebels.'
They had helped themselves to some tunics from the rebel bodies on the grain ships and fastened their sword belts over the top. If anyone took the time to look hard at them, the Roman swords might look suspicious, but they could pass them off as captured kit if stopped. From the sounds of confusion and panic coming from the camp, Cato hoped that the rebels would be too busy trying to save themselves to be worried about Roman intruders in their midst.
He indicated a rock a short distance away. 'We'll put the boat behind that.'
Once he was satisfied that it was hidden from view and would still be there if they needed to make a quick escape, he led the others up towards the large tents in that part of the camp he had seen Ajax and his escort make for the previous day. The slope was rocky and dotted with shrubs and clumps of gorse that snagged their tunics as they crept forwards. At length the gradient eased and they could hear voices more clearly. There were hurried exchanges of shouts, but none of the panic and pandemonium that was evident in the main part of the camp. The ground here was sparsely covered where the rebels had ripped up the dry plants and bushes for kindling. There was a sudden rustling to their right, and Cato waved his men down and dropped to the ground himself. Ahead of them a small group of figures ran by: a man, woman and two children, all of them clutching bundles. The man looked nervously towards the top of the slope and urged the others on. They passed a short distance in front of the Romans without seeing them, and ran off into the darkness. As the sound of their footsteps faded, Cato let his breath out.
'Come on,' he whispered.
They continued, and now the glow of camp fires illuminated the crest above them. Keeping low and glancing from side to side, they proceeded warily. The ridges of tents were visible over the crest, and Cato made towards a small outcrop of boulders that would conceal them as they took in the situation. There turned out to be a natural gap between the boulders wide enough for two men to lie down, and Cato ordered the legionaries to stay back while he crawled forward with Atticus. The rocks stood on a slight rise and the position gave them a good view over the flat area of ground that the enemy commander had chosen for his tent and those of his bodyguards. The largest tents were surrounded by an open area, then smaller shelters, and off to one side a small shack and pens that seemed to have been abandoned many years ago. A number of camp fires were burning down, having been abandoned in the rush to counter the Roman attack. As Cato surveyed the scene, he could see several figures close to the largest tent; some were armed with spears, and an old woman squatted to one side hurriedly loading possessions on to a blanket that lay open on the ground. Other rebels were visible flitting through the shelters as they ran from the Roman forces advancing round the bay. Cato could not help won de ring what these fugitives might hope to achieve. When they reached the end of the peninsula they would be trapped.
'What now?' muttered Atticus. 'Where do you think Macro and the senator's daughter are being kept?'
'It has to be somewhere close to his tent.' Cato recalled the savage glee in the gladiator's eyes as he contemplated the suffering of Macro and Julia. 'He'd want them nearby, near enough to sense their torment. Some where he could keep an eye on them. In one of the tents perhaps, or in those pens. We have to get closer.'
Atticus nodded. 'Best circle round then, sir. Come up behind the pens from where there's not so much light from the fires.'
Cato examined the ground.' Yes. You're right. Let's go.'
They shuffled back, rejoined Vulso and Musa, and then the four of them moved through the scrub on the fringes of the tents, in a long arc round to the far side of the peninsula. There were many more fugitives streaming up the hill from the direction of the main camp, and by some unspoken mutual consent the small party of Romans and the fleeing rebels warily shifted some distance round each other in the shadows, then hurried on. At last Cato saw that the pens were in line with the largest tents, and gestured to the men following him.
'Let's get in closer.'
They padded through the outermost shelters: makeshift tents spread over crudely cut frames, nearly all empty after the initial rush down towards the battle being fought on the other side of the bay.
Some were not empty, however, and Cato felt his flesh freeze at the sound of a shrill shriek, before he realised it was an infant crying. A woman murmured gently and the crying quickly died away. There were others amongst the shelters, fleeing from the camp, who had taken the chance to pause long enough to ransack some of the empty tents they were passing through. Cato nearly tripped over one of them, a man bent down in the shadows as he dragged a large silver bowl through some tent flaps. Cato stopped in his tracks. The man jumped to his feet, where the glow from the fires lit up his features.
A wrinkled face, half hidden by shaggy hair, and an unkempt beard.
He snarled, revealing a handful of jagged teeth.
'Look out, sir!' Atticus pushed Cato aside as the rebel lashed out with a knife. Cato heard it swish close to his ear, and then there was a dull crunch as Atticus floored the man with a punch. As the rebel collapsed unconscious to the ground, the optio snatched the knife from his fingers and drew it back, ready to cut the man's throat.
'No.' Cato held his arm. 'Leave him. Let's go on.'
The pens were only a short distance ahead of them, and Cato weaved cautiously through the remaining shelters until they reached the rear of the structures. Beyond them the ground was open all the way to where the group of men were gathered in front of what Cato assumed to be the gladiator's personal tent. They were watching the destruction of their comrades down in the camp, and talking in anxious tones, though Cato could not catch the sense of what they were saying. The walls of the pens stood as tall as his shoulders, and he knew that if he stood up to peer over the walls to look for Macro and Julia he was almost sure to be seen.
He rose up as high as he dared and called out softly, 'Julia?...
Macro?'
There was no reply. He called again, a little louder this time. Still there was no reply.
'They're not in there,' Atticus muttered.
'No.'
'So what do we do?'
'Keep looking,' Cato said firmly, and edged along behind the pens until he reached a gap where he could crawl forwards and look round from the safety of the shadows. He saw it almost at once - a cage a short distance from the largest tent and away from the other shelters. It was on the highest point of the camp, exposed to the elements. Cato edged back as yet more rebels fled past. The Romans flattened themselves to the ground and lay still. Once the rebels had gone, Cato turned to the others.
'I know where they are: Macro and Julia.' He told Atticus and the others about the cage.
'Did you actually see them?' the optio asked.
Cato shook his head. 'Too dark. But where else could they be?'
'I'm beginning to think they could be anywhere. Pretty soon this place is going to be overrun with slaves fleeing up from the main camp. We'd best find the hostages as soon as we can, sir.'