now rearmed with their spathae, took up position at the foot of the steps, ‘and when he refuses to, which he will, you will make the translation.’
‘Yes, quaestor.’
‘Ahmose, bring them to order.’
A horn sounded and the noise in the agora died down.
Vespasian stepped forward to address the crowd. ‘Two nights ago the Bennu was reborn to begin its new five-hundred-year cycle,’ he declaimed. He paused as Ahmose translated his words. After a quick glance at the auxiliary to confirm that the translation was true he continued. ‘I was warmed by its fire and felt the wind of its wings and your priest took me to the temple of Amun where the god spoke to me.’
There were looks of awe on the faces of those listening as Ahmose repeated this line.
‘I am blessed by Amun and I and all who travel with me are under His protection. Yet your priest sold my companions, Roman soldiers, to the Marmaridae.’
Ahmose shot Vespasian a nervous glance.
‘Translate, priest,’ he ordered.
After the priest had spoken Vespasian turned to the auxiliary who shook his head. ‘He didn’t translate the second sentence; he just made something up about the glory of Amun.’
‘What a surprise. Do it for him, then.’
As the auxiliary translated the real version a look of surprise turning to panic washed over Ahmose’s face as he realised that he was losing any control that he had over the situation.
‘To buy them back he used thirty-two of your compatriots; free men now forced into slavery by your priest.’
‘I did it for Amun,’ Ahmose shouted at Vespasian.
‘No, you do nothing for Amun, everything you do is for your-self, like so many of your kind. Now, are you going to translate or is he?’
With a howl Ahmose leapt at Vespasian only to find himself pinioned by the firm grips of Magnus and Ziri. Vespasian nodded at the auxiliary as the priest struggled helplessly to escape his captors.
Roars of indignation emanated from the crowd as the auxiliary translated; they began to surge forward only to be held back by Corvinus’ men.
Vespasian held his arms aloft, appealing for calm. ‘This priest of yours, who lives in luxury off the money you give him, has no concern for your wellbeing, only his.’
The crowd shouted their agreement as they heard the translation.
‘He delivered Roman soldiers and your own people to the slavers and in doing so has brought the wrath of Rome and Amun down on you all. To redress his actions I will lead you tonight to the Marmaridae’s camp and we shall destroy them together and free your people.’
A huge cheer greeted these words once they were translated.
‘But first, I, who am favoured by your god, demand vengeance on this priest for his treatment of my men; his life is forfeit.’ Ahmose’s legs buckled; Magnus and Ziri held him upright. ‘I could execute him now or, if you wish it, I will give you your priest, who thinks nothing of selling thirty-two of your number into a life of servitude, to punish as you see fit; you are free of him.’
As the auxiliary finished the translation the crowd’s reaction was clear; Vespasian gestured to Magnus and Ziri. They forced the screaming Ahmose down the steps, through the cordon of auxiliaries, and threw him to the people who kept him in luxury yet whom he valued so little.
With animal ferocity they drew him into their midst, feet, fists and nails lashing at him, their cries of hatred drowning his shrieks as they battered and pummelled him mercilessly. Vespasian and his companions watched with grim satisfaction as the bloodied priest was hurled, wailing, into the air to be caught by many pairs of hands. Gripping his ankles and wrists strong men pulled Ahmose, eyes bulging with fear and agony, in opposing directions; others cut at his body with knives, concentrating on his joints. His shoulders and hips dislocated under the pressure, which grew until, to a savage roar from the crowd, his left arm, its sinews severed by multiple slashes, ripped from his shoulder, followed, a moment later, by his right. Ahmose’s head crashed down onto the ground as the macabre trophies were waved in the air. The men holding his ankles then pulled his legs apart, heaving on them with all their might, rending the ligaments and muscles until the right leg parted at the knee in a welter of blood. Unable to tear any more off him the crowd then took it in turns to batter out of Ahmose what little remaining life was left in him with his own dismembered limbs.
‘I think that’s got their blood up,’ Magnus said, nodding with approval at the manner of the priest’s demise.
‘Let’s hope so,’ Vespasian replied. ‘We’d better get them to the Marmaridae’s camp while they’re still in the mood.’
It was past midnight and the moon had set. Vespasian crept through the gloom of a palm grove guided only by the light of the few torches and fires that still burned within the Marmaridae’s camp. Behind him just over two hundred men from the town waited in the darkness along with Corvinus and his auxiliaries.
Upon reaching the edge of the grove he dropped to his knees behind a palm and peered around its trunk towards the slavers’ camp; all was quiet. Having satisfied himself that, apart from a few sentries dozing by campfires, there was no one abroad, he slipped back through the dark to his waiting men.
‘They’re not expecting any company,’ he whispered, crouching down next to Magnus and Corvinus. ‘I could see about half a dozen guards, most of whom seem to be asleep, none of them were patrolling; everyone else is in their tents.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Corvinus asked, dubious about the wisdom of the attack.
‘Because I couldn’t see them anywhere else; but you’re right, it is an assumption. However, that’s no reason not to do this thing; we outnumber them by a good fifty men.’
‘But most of ours are townspeople with improvised weapons; they’ll be up against trained fighters.’
‘Which makes the need for speed and surprise all the more essential, Corvinus, so let’s stop talking about it and do it; unless you’d prefer that I cancel the whole thing and tell the Governor that I was obliged to let a Roman citizen be carried off into slavery because my cavalry prefect shied away from a fight?’
‘You bastard.’
‘That’s better; now leave me the translator and take your men around to the south of the camp; Magnus and I will take the townspeople and cover this side and the east and west. Deal with the guards around the corral as quietly as possible; once they’re dead secure the corral and signal to me here by waving one of the torches. We’ll then move in on all sides setting fire to the tents and killing as many as we can before they wake up; after that it’ll be a hard fight. If we hear any screams before your signal we’ll charge in immediately.’
Corvinus grunted his assent.
‘And try not to kill the camels,’ Vespasian added.
‘Why not?’
‘Because we’ll need them to get home.’
Corvinus got to his feet, brushed the sand from his knees and moved off to muster his men.
‘What do you think?’ Magnus asked.
‘I think that he’ll do as he’s been ordered; he’s a good officer, he just doesn’t like me.’
‘Let’s hope that won’t cloud his judgement.’
‘Come on; let’s get our rabble army in position.’
After Vespasian had briefed the townspeople, through the translator, with orders to do nothing until they saw him go forward, they had moved into position in silence over the loose sand. Vespasian and Magnus waited, with swords drawn, in the darkness looking out over the Marmaridae’s camp that was now surrounded by a man at every five paces. Ziri lay next to Magnus clutching a spear. Apart from the occasional snort from one of the many hobbled camels scattered among the tents it was quiet. The sentries dozed peacefully by their dying fires.
Vespasian felt the tension of coming conflict rise within him, knotting his insides. He offered a silent prayer to Fortuna that she would preserve him from the desert’s warriors as she had done from the desert’s elements and felt confident that it would be so. However, others would not be so fortunate and, in the dark, in the privacy of his thoughts, he could not but help compare his actions and Ahmose’s. They had both sacrificed men for their own desires; the priest for luxury and he, Vespasian, for lust. It had cost Ahmose his life and it had made Vespasian an enemy in Corvinus, a man whose high birth would ensure that he would one day be able to keep his promise of
