him. The owner of the farm had obviously been a man of some wealth, but limited taste. The walls of this, his dining room, had been covered with murals depicting a bacchanal orgy. Directly in front of Ajax was an image of a pair of gladiators, a secutor like Ajax himself, in a wary crouch as he faced a net-wielding retiarius. Arranged around them were the guests, drinking and gorging and laughing as they urged the gladiators on. One of the women, heavily made up, was holding the penis of a man as she watched the fight with an excited expression. In the centre of the party sat the host, a fat, jolly bald man wearing a leaf crown awry on his shining pate as he raised a cup in the air, filled to overflowing.
'Bastards!' Ajax roared, snatching up the jug and hurling it against the wall with all his might. The jug exploded, sending shards of pottery and jets of wine in all directions. The mural was instantly covered in dark liquid that ran down the wall so that the images were distorted by a red film. Ajax's heart was pounding as he stared at the wall with wide, terrifying eyes. Behind him there was a creak as the door swung on its hinges.
'General? Are you all right?' Chilo asked anxiously. There was a pause as he saw the remains of the jug and the wine on the wall.
'General?'
For a moment Ajax remained still, fighting back the rage that burned in his heart. The memory of his slavery was still like an open wound, and above all thought of the indignities and pain that he had suffered was the image of Centurion Macro, one of those responsible for the crucifixion of his father, and the cause of Ajax being sold into slavery. Macro, and that other one, the tall, thin officer his own age, and the legate who had commanded them, Vespasian. Even if the others were beyond his reach, serving elsewhere in the accursed empire of Rome, Macro was at hand, and at his mercy. Ajax muttered an oath to every god he held sacred that he would avenge his father, he would avenge himself and he would make sure that Macro was made to suffer every torment that could be conceived before he was allowed to die.
Chilo coughed. 'General? Is there anything I can do?'
Ajax sucked in a deep breath and turned round. Chilo commanded the best men of the slave army. They had been equipped with the pick of the captured armour and weapons. 'Yes. Summon your men. Have them formed up. We have some ladders, I recall.'
'Yes, General, some, but they are in sections and will need to be securely lashed together before we can use them on the walls of Gortyna.'
'Then see to it. At once. We will attack as soon as they are ready'
'Attack?' Chilo could not hide his astonishment. The openness of his character was one of the reasons Ajax had chosen him to be one of his closest comrades. He could not hide anything from his general, especially any sign of doubt or treachery.
'But General, the men have marched most of the day. They will be settling in for the night.'
'That's too bad. Besides, the Romans will have seen us make camp. They won't be expecting any attack so soon after we have arrived. That's why we must do it. To catch them unawares.' Ajax thought a moment. 'We'll make for that section close to the main gate. It's been repaired, but it looks weak, and they haven't been able to raise it back up to the level of the rest of the wall.' He nodded to himself. 'Yes. We'll attack there, out of the darkness.'
The gleaming helmets of the sentries were clearly visible by the light of the flames flickering along the wall as Ajax thrust his hand up to halt the column behind him. Chilo repeated the gesture and the men drew up, still and silent as shadows. Ajax had ordered them to leave all unnecessary kit back at the camp, and anything that might make a noise that would give them away. Halfa mile back, the much larger war band of Kharim stood ready to charge in if a breach was secured, or the gatehouse seized. His men were armed with an assortment of weapons and carried little or no protection. But their hearts were filled with determination to throw themselves at their enemy if the chance came.
Chilo's men were barefoot and wore scale armour and helmets.
They carried shields and spears with daggers thrust into their sword belts. Ajax waved his hand and the men gently eased their shields down and crouched beside them. Ajax lowered his own shield and spear to the ground and removed his helmet, softly ordering Chilo to do the same.
He gestured to Chilo to accompany him and they crept towards the walls, no more than a hundred paces away. They kept low and moved slowly, edging towards the glow cast by the light of the torches up on the wall. The gatehouse was just to their right, and the flames of a brazier mounted on the squat tower over the gate flared into the night, occasionally sending up small swirls of bright sparks that quickly flickered and died. Ajax was keen to get as close to the wall as he could to see where the repaired section looked weakest. If they could rush the wall and break into the city, then the gatehouse could be quickly taken and the gates opened for Kharim and his men to finish the job. He was about to creep further forward for a closer inspection of the defences when Chilo suddenly seized his arm and held him back.
'What?' Ajax hissed fiercely as he glanced round.
'Look there.' Chilo released his grip and pointed into the grass two feet ahead of them. At first Ajax could see nothing out of the ordinary, and then he spotted it, a dark spike, unnaturally straight and unlike the blades of grass surrounding it. He reached forward cautiously and felt the object. Cold metal. He picked it up and drew it back for a closer look. He was holding the object by one of four prongs, each the length of his finger and ending in a sharp spike.
'Very clever, our Roman friends,' he whispered. 'They've sown the approaches with these… things. They'd break a charge beautifully'
He stared at it a moment and then tossed it to one side. 'We have to clear a path before we bring the men forward.'
Chilo nodded, then suddenly froze, straining his ears. He turned his head to the right and pointed. 'There.'
Ajax squinted in the direction indicated and saw a dark figure backing away from them, hunched over a wicker basket, which he dipped into, tossing something to one side.
'Should we wait until he's gone, General?'
'No. He might see us, or come back this way. Wait here,' he ordered, and pulling out his dagger he half rose and slowly circled round to his right. The enemy soldier continued with his task, occasionally pausing and raising his head to glance towards the rebel camp, at which Ajax froze until the Roman returned to his work, and then moved on again. Once he had crept round behind the man, he closed in, step by step; then, clenching his fist around the handle of the dagger, he sprang forwards, sprinting the last few feet. The Roman heard the rustle of grass and glanced back just as Ajax slammed into him, knocking him down. He clamped his hand over the man's mouth and thrust his head down against the ground as he smothered the Roman's lighter frame and brought the tip of the dagger up under the soldier's chin. By the faint glow of the torches he saw that his enemy was aged and scrawny, a veteran auxiliary close to the end of his enlistment.
'One move, one sound, and you're dead.' He pressed the blade so the man would realise his peril. 'Understand?'
The man nodded slightly, eyes wide with terror. He winced as the point bit into his skin.
'Good,' Ajax whispered, then slowly lifted his hand from the man's mouth. 'Are you out here alone?'
'N — no. Don't kill me.'
'You'll live if you answer me truthfully' Ajax inched his knife back.' Now then, how many more of you are there?'
'Four. There are four of us. Two on the other side of the gatehouse and one going in the other direction.'
'Will he come back this way?'
The Roman thought briefly and shook his head.' Not for a while.
He had more ground to cover.'
Ajax nodded towards the basket the man had been dragging.
'Those things you're sowing on the ground.'
'The caltrops?'
Ajax half smiled — so that was what they were called. 'Yes, the caltrops. How deeply have you laid them?'
'Over ten, fifteen feet.'
