'Wait a moment.' Macro stopped to strip the tunic from one of the bodies and hurriedly pulled it on. 'That's better! What's the plan?'
Macro panted as he chased after his friend.
'Plan?' Cato took the reins of the nearest horse and sheathed his sword. 'We go after them and free Julia. Or die trying.'
'Nice to know you've thought it through.'
They scrambled into the saddles, took up the reins and turned the horses down the track Ajax and his men had taken. With a shout, Cato dug his heels in and urged his horse into a gallop. He knew it was madness for the two of them to attempt this pursuit by themselves, but he would not be able to live with the knowledge that he had let Julia remain a captive of the gladiator. There was no way that he and Macro alone could take on over twenty of Ajax's bodyguard, but he did not care. All reason was spent and he was driven on by his heart, willing only to save her or die in the attempt.
That last sight of her, terrified and vulnerable as she was carried off into the darkness, was branded on to his mind's eye as he leaned forward along the horse's neck and urged it on.
The path was broad and well trodden by generations of local people making the journey along the peninsula, perhaps to leave an offering at the shrine of a local deity, or to swim from one of the small coves along the coastline. Cato could only guess as he and Macro rode on, scanning the way ahead for sign of their prey. Ajax had spoken of boats. He must have some plan of escape. Cato had to find him before it could be put into effect.
To their left an expanse of the bay was lit up by the flames of the four ships, still ablaze. Beyond, the rebel camp was alive with tiny figures as the Roman soldiers cut a path through the shelters without mercy. Cato took one glance at the scene before he dismissed it and continued into the night. He knew the risk they were taking in galloping over unknown ground in the darkness. But already rosy-fingered dawn was lighting the horizon, and the route ahead was just discernible.
A mile after they had left the camp, Cato saw a shape ahead of him: another rider.
'We're catching them!' Macro called out.
Cato drew his sword, clasping the handle tightly, and slapped the flat of the blade on the horse's rump. The animal's flanks shivered between his thighs, and it put on an extra spurt as it closed on the rebel. More figures emerged from the darkness ahead of the man, and Cato felt a cold determination firm up his resolve.
He was no more than ten paces behind his quarry when the man glanced back over his shoulder. He stared at his pursuers a moment and then called ahead to the next man, who also looked back, as did another. They reined in and fell back as their horses slowed and then drew their swords. Meanwhile Cato closed on the rearmost man, watching him intently. As they began to draw level, the rebel slashed out with his sword. Cato clenched his thighs and threw his weight to one side, causing his horse to stagger, but it remained on its feet and the blade hissed through the air.
'My turn!' Cato snarled, stabbing out with his sword and catching the rebel in the side, just above his sword belt. The point pierced tunic, flesh and muscle before entering his guts, and then Cato ripped it free. The rider dropped his weapon and clasped his side as he bent forward over his saddle. Cato rode on. Macro had passed ahead of him. The two rebels had turned side on to block Macro and Cato.
They held their blades ready. Macro dug his heels in, aiming straight at them. His horse did as it was bid until the very last moment, when it tried to draw up and turn and its flank smashed into the side of one of the horses, pinning the rider's leg. The man gasped, but before he could recover Macro hacked at his sword arm, cutting deeply into the flesh above the elbow. The blade dropped from the man's hand as his horse staggered back and trotted off the track into the bushes that grew on each side.
Macro glanced round as the other man swung at him. He managed to parry the blow but the blade glanced off and struck his horse on the neck just behind the ears. At once the animal let out a shrill whinny and reared up on its hind legs, kicking out with the front. Macro was thrown back. He toppled from his saddle and flew through the air before crashing down on his side. There was a brief flash of light as his head struck the stony path, and the air was driven from his body with a sharp gasp. He forced himself on to his hands and knees and shook his head to clear his vision.
He heard the rebel click his tongue as he steadied his shaken mount and edged it towards the fallen Roman. Macro saw the legs of the horse clopping towards him, and the dull gleam of his blade a few feet away. He lunged for it, snatching at the handle as he rolled under the horse. The animal's belly loomed above him and Macro thrust the sword up, wincing as it struck home and blood spattered down on to his face. The horse whinnied in agony and threw itself forward. A ho of crashed down beside Macro's head as the rider desperately tried to steady his mount. A dark shape appeared beside him, and Cato thrust his blade into the small of the rebel's back.
Already half mad with pain, the stricken mount galloped off the path, down the slope, before stumbling. Rider and horse tumbled over and over amid the rocks and gorse for a moment, and then there was silence.
Macro staggered to his feet. He still felt dizzy and shook his head again to try and clear the sensation as he staggered towards the man he had wounded in the arm. The rebel was still in the saddle, moaning as he clutched at the wound. He did not see Macro until it was too late to escape. Macro took the reins and pointed his sword at the man.
'If you want to live, get off.'
The rebel nodded, and awkwardly eased his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground on the far side of the horse. Then he rapidly backed away. Macro watched him carefully until the rebel was at a safe distance, then sheathed his sword and steadied the horse a moment before mounting it. The animal was skittish and Macro spoke to it calmly and clicked his tongue before walking it forward to join Cato.
'Are you all right?' Cato asked anxiously.
'Fine. Let's go.'
They urged their horses on and continued the pursuit. The brief fight had lost them some ground and Cato looked ahead keenly for any sight of the enemy as they rode along the narrow track. The route wound its way along the spine of the peninsula, and all the time he anticipated catching sight of the gladiator and his retinue again.
But there was no sign of them, and a terrible doubt formed in Cato's mind. Then the track crested a small rise that afforded a view of the peninsula stretching out ahead for some distance. Empty.
'Shit!' Cato hissed between clenched teeth.
'Where in Hades are they?' Macro growled.' How could we have missed them? How?'
'They must have gone off the main track,' Cato decided, cursing himself. 'We have to turn around.'
He yanked the reins round and trotted back along the track, glancing carefully from side to side. After a quarter of a mile he found what he was looking for; he had missed it as they had galloped past at speed a while earlier. A small path left the track, winding down the slope. They quickly turned aside from the main track and followed the path down as it wound between rocks and stunted trees. Below them they could hear the faint rush and hiss of waves on the shore, and then the track opened out on to the top of a small cliff before doubling back steeply as it carried on down towards a stretch of beach.
Cato heard voices shouting and the faint clatter of weapons. No more than a few hundred feet out to sea he saw the outline of a small Roman warship, and recognised it as one of the liburnians. A handful of smaller boats were clustered about the hull and Cato realised at once what was happening.
'Shit, that's the warship that ran aground. The rebels are taking it.'
They turned the horses down the path and urged them on. There was only a short distance to go, and then Cato and Macro emerged on to a thin strip of sand. The beach was a little over a hundred paces wide, and a handful of abandoned shacks lay clustered at the foot of the cliff. The rebels' horses had been left at the water's edge. A handful of small boats remained, and the two Romans swung themselves down from their saddles and ran across the sand towards them. Neither had sails, only oars. Cato grabbed the side of the nearest boat.
'Help me!'
He braced his feet in the surf and hauled the boat into the water as Macro grabbed the other side and pulled. It dragged stubbornly across the sand until a small wave lifted it up and they managed to heave it free of the shore. They pushed it out until the water was round their waists and then scrambled over the side. As Cato lifted the oars into the rowlock pegs and Macro sat heavily in the stern, the last sounds of fighting died away. The thin light of dawn filtered across the bay as Cato took his seat on the centre bench and desperately began to row out towards the liburnian. If the warship was still aground, then the rebels would not get away.
Cato knew that he and Macro were facing certain death once they reached the ship. He prayed that they
