The Gladiator - Scarrow Simon (бесплатная регистрация книга txt) 📗

'It was the lady, General,' the guard explained. 'She provoked my mother into attacking her. I had to separate them.'

Ajax stared at them briefly before looking at Julia, rising to her feet. Her skin was clean and his eyes feasted on her body. 'That is the nature of Romans, they bring out the worst in others.

Don't worry.' Ajax turned back to the old woman. 'If she has caused offence then she will be paying for it tonight. When I have finished, you can do as you will with her. Only leave her alive, understand?'

The old woman nodded gleefully.

Ajax clicked his fingers.' Then finish cleaning her up, and find her something to wear. Something fine and Roman. I want to enjoy soiling her.' He approached Julia, stood before her and raised his hand to tilt her chin. His arm brushed her breast and Ajax felt a flush of lust in his loins as he raised her face towards him. Julia met his gaze with a defiant expression.

Ajax laughed cruelly.' Oh, you won't be so haughty before this night is out. I promise you. You'll beg for my mercy'

'I'd rather die.'

'I'm sure you would, but you don't escape your punishment that easily'

'Punishment?' Julia frowned. 'What have I ever done to deserve this?'

Ajax took his hand away and retreated a step. 'You were born a Roman.' He turned to the others. 'Prepare her for me as swiftly as possible. When she is dressed and scented, bring her straight to me.'

'Yes, General.' The guard bowed his head.

As Ajax strode back towards his tent, the old woman chuckled as she advanced on Julia with a chilling grin.' Them stripes on my back will be nothing to the scars he's going to leave on you.'

After two hours in the water, Cato was beginning to shiver. As far as he could estimate, he had covered a mile and a half along the bay. He was doubting the wisdom of his plan. Around him he could just see the darker shapes of heads and the inflated waterskins bobbing on the surface. Every so often one of the section leaders would call out to his men and make sure that they were still with him. Optio Atticus and the others swam close by their commander. There was no telling how the group heading for the beached ships was progressing, and Cato could only hope that they reached their targets at roughly the same time that he and his men began to board the anchored ships.

That moment was less than an hour away. Cato kicked out and continued forward, trying to ignore the numbing chill that was creeping into his body.

Ahead, the fires of the rebel camp gradually became more distinct, and he could see individual figures by the light of the flames. A dark mass directly ahead blotted out the fires beyond, and Cato realised that he was nearing the grain ships. He stopped and raised an arm.

'On me! On me!'

The water churned around him as the words were passed on and the men began to gather on the steady swell. Once the sounds of splashing had ceased and Cato was happy that as many men as possible were with him, he called out again, as loudly as he dared: 'Let's go!

The men kicked out, spreading out a little as they approached the ships. They silently swam towards their targets with grim determination. Cato made directly for the centre of the rafted ships, and gradually they blotted out all sight of the camp beyond. He could hear the lap of the waves against their hulls, and even an occasional voice above the slap and hiss of the sea. He slowed his pace, kicking steadily but carefully so that he did not break the surface of the water. Ahead of him he saw a dark line against the background and realised he had come across an anchor cable. He made for it and grasped the coarse rope, finding it reassuringly steady. Slipping the shoulder strap of the waterskin and the bundled weapons securely over his head and shoulder, he eased himself on to the anchor cable and began to work up towards the bows of the ship.

Emerging from the water his skin tingled in the breeze, but the concentration and effort needed to edge forwards made him ignore the discomfort. He wormed his way up the cable, dripping as he edged towards the hawse, where it passed through the stout timbers of the grain ship. The further up he crawled, the more it began to sway, and his muscles tensed as he struggled to stay astride it. Then the timbers of the hull were within reach, and Cato held on with one hand while the other scrabbled up the weathered surface, over the side and gripped on. He pulled himself up, then grabbed at the side rail with his other hand. His shoulder muscles protested painfully as he drew his body up and peered over the side. There was no one visible in the bows. Beyond the foredeck there was a short drop to the main deck, where a sturdy hatch coaming led down into the hold. Aft, the deck rose up again to the steering platform. Several men lay or sat on the main deck, while one stood by the handle of the steering paddle, spear in hand. The stench of pitch filled the air and Cato saw a dull glow at the stern where a lamp burned inside a small leather screen. Ajax's threat to burn the ships was quite real.

Cato eased his feet up on to the cable and pressed down as he heaved himself over the side, controlling the movement as best he could so that he did not land on the deck with a thud. Instead, he landed on top of a man sleeping in the shelter of the ship's side.

There was a grunt as Cato's knees winded the rebel, who gasped as he stirred to find a wet, near-naked figure sprawled over him. Cato bunched his fist and drove it into the rebel's face, snapping his head back against the deck with a dull bump. He hit him again, and again, until he was certain the man was insensible.

Cato sat on his haunches, his limbs shaking terribly from the cold and his exertions. He took a moment to rub himself vigorously to restore some warmth. Then he unfastened the length of cloth that bound his weapons, cursing under his breath as his fingers fumbled with the ties. As they came un done, he felt the reassuring touch of his sword blade. He crouched on the deck as he fastened the belt around his middle, and then cautiously rose up to help the next man over the side. It was Atticus, and a moment later he too was on the foredeck, armed and ready. More men swarmed up the anchor cable and joined them, while Atticus drew his dagger and cut the rebel's throat.

Once Atticus, Vulso, Musa and three other men were aboard and had their weapons to hand, Cato squatted down in front of them. 'All ready? When I give the word, we head across the main deck. Go in fast, and show no mercy. I want the ship taken without the alarm being raised. Atticus, you take Vulso and Musa and make your way down the port side. I'll lead the rest.' He glanced round at the shadowy features of his men, most of whom were shivering, like himself, from the cold and the terrifying exhilaration of the instant before battle began. Cato grasped his sword firmly and turned aft.

'Let's go.'

He kept low, crouching as he moved along the ship's side, where he hoped the shadows might conceal him long enough to surprise the rebels. At the end of the foredeck, three steps led down to the long, broad expanse of the main deck. Three of the rebels were sitting on the edge of the hatch coaming, talking in muted tones as they shared a wineskin. Cato saw one of them lift it up and swallow several mouthfuls. As he approached them, he increased his pace to a trot, then a sprint, drawing back his sword. He slashed at the first man, cutting into his head with a soft crack before the rebel had even begun to turn towards the sound of the sudden rush of padding feet.

The second man just had time to glance round before Cato punched him hard on the jaw and thrust him over the side of the hatch and into the hold. The third man lowered the wineskin and let out a choked gasp as Cato caught him with the backswing of his sword, cutting through the hand holding the wineskin and into the man's neck. He crumpled on to the deck as the dark forms of the Roman legionaries swept on, hacking into the rest of the rebels.