Calfax didn’t have time to react as his swords were knocked free as Gaius collided into him, carrying him several feet before the two men slammed against the side of a nearby tent. The supports weren’t strong enough to stand against the two men combined weight and momentum. It collapsed around them, but it was Gaius who was able to get out first.
He quickly staggered back to his feet as the fabric enveloped Calfax, who struggled to free himself.
Gaius frantically looked for a sword, but settled for a spear that was lying nearby. When he grabbed it, his intention was to turn back and run it through Calfax’s body, but he couldn’t as another gladiator ran towards him in a drunken charge — yelling at the top of his lungs.
Gaius impaled the man easily, but under his weight, the spear broke as he dropped to the ground.
Another gladiator was about to attack Gaius, who was now defenseless, but before this man could, he was struck dead-center by a javelin. The force alone threw the man off of his feet as the long iron shaft stuck out of his chest.
Gaius turned as he heard his named called by the Roman, who had just saved his life. The rider tossed him a sword as he snatched it out of the air. By now, however, as he turned back to where he left Calfax, the man was gone. For a moment, Gaius thought about racing after him, but his thoughts quickly returned to the mission at hand.
He ran over to where both Cato and Maurus lay. Maurus was already on his feet, standing over Cato, who was screaming in agony.
As Gaius looked down at his officer, he didn’t know if the man could survive the next hour. So, there was no time to waste as he signaled for a group of riders to come over to him.
Seven in all arrived and quickly dismounted and awaited orders.
“The consul, he and his slave are in this tent. Get both out of here at once. And take both Cato and Maurus with you,” Gaius yelled, relaying his orders over the chaos that had erupted from all around them.
“I am fine. I can stay and fight!” Maurus pleaded, even though he had his hand held over the gash across his stomach, which was still oozing blood.
“No, you are not! And you are not staying here either in this condition. You have your orders. Get the consul out of here — Now!”
Maurus didn’t argue as he was helped onto the back of one horse, while Cato’s body was dropped over the rear of another. A moment later the slave Claudia exited the tent escorted by a Roman, while two other carried Paullus’ body between them.
“Go! And do not stop for anyone until you have made it to our column!” Gaius yelled as the riders reared their horses and galloped back towards where the battle had started from.
Gaius waited, making sure that the riders had gotten out of the camp, or at least as long as he could see them before they were enveloped by hundreds more horsemen and infantry on the ground. Then, he turned towards a group of two dozen men, some freed soldiers, others belonging to his legion and rallied them as he and they ran off, their destination, the cages that held the rest of the captured men.
The battle had been sudden and many gladiators were already dead, but it was far from over.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Valerius stood under the shadow of one of the rolling hills that surrounded the gladiator camp. The full moon was hung behind the encampment. He strained his eyes trying to fix on any one target, but even with the light of the moon and the surrounding torches, it was difficult this late to identify any particular individual. This concerned him. He wondered if it wasn’t just his age catching up to him. He recalled in his youth that he had eyes like a hawk. However, none of his nearby men who also kept an ever watchful eye on the camp could see anything that might indicate that his plan was exposed. The screams of his countrymen could easily be heard. This was the only real indication that his plan had not been foiled.
As Valerius glanced over towards his awaiting men — a hundred horsemen and two hundred heavy infantry, he could see in each of their eyes their desperate anticipation to race down the hill. They had suffered too many defeats and saw many of their countrymen die at the hands of Hannibal’s army. They wanted — no, needed to bloody their swords, and with each new chorus of cries emerging from the camp, Valerius had to urge his men to be patient, just a little while longer.
He saw many horrors in his long life; too many battles and too many wars, death and mayhem were nothing new to the old veteran. This, however, was different. The very thought of fellow Romans, the survivors of Cannae being tortured to death for sport, by lowly slaves, was unbearable. If it were in his power, he would race down the hill on his own and slaughter them all, to the last with his bare hands. However, just getting on his horse some nights was a challenge. He knew that, one way or another, this was his last war.
Finally, Valerius knew it was time. If all went as he had planned, Gaius and the dozen men that went down there with him should have removed the outer guards and made ready the attack from within. If not, he knew, as capable as his men were that they didn’t have the manpower or time to spare to take the whole camp if it were defended. The sun would be rising soon, within the next two hours, and he doubted that there were enough captured Romans down there to keep the gladiators occupied past morning. So time was not on his side.
Now was the time to act.
With only a whisper Valerius turned towards the nearest officer, a boy, too young to be a centurion, and gave the word for the men to mount their horses and make ready.
The message was quickly relayed from man to man.
Slowly, and with as little noise as possible, save for a few words from the horses as they were mounted, Valerius and his single cavalry cohort began their slow and careful march over the hill and towards the gladiator camp, which was under a mile from their current position. They would shock the enemy with speed, while the infantry swept in behind them and slaughtered the stragglers.
He didn’t order his men into a full gallop, not yet. He led from the front, spreading his men out wide. Their horses moved steadily in a parade pace. Always he kept his eyes ahead, expecting every minute the horn to sound, warning the gladiators of his riders approach. However, after the first quarter mile, he heard nothing save for the continuing cheers and screams that carried for miles in all directions.
Within a half-mile, Valerius increased his speed, which was followed by his men. Now the ground started to rumble ever so slightly as the clattering of armor and weapons fill the blackened horizon.
His heart started to race. He felt young again, filled with the anticipation of the charge. He hadn’t done this in so long. This was how his men were supposed to fight — their enemy straight ahead — no tricks or traps, just man and iron.
The outer walls were in sight. As he had hoped and expected, Gaius had not failed in his given task. Not a single gladiator sentry was in sight. The whole camp was undefended.
With a thunderous roar, Valerius cried-out as he drew his spear and kicked his horse into a full gallop. He outpaced the rest of his men for a fraction of a second as the horsemen cried out, drew their weapons and charged at full speed.
A moment later, an alarm did sound as there was no hiding the fact that the gladiators were under attack. Only now it was too late to mount any kind of proper defense.
The low makeshift wall couldn’t stop the horses from leaping over it, or breaking right through it.
Valerius remained out in front of his men, ahead of them by a few yards as his horse leaped feet first over the wall. He was smiling like a boy as he saw his target, a lone gladiator, a dark-skinned man who froze with panic in his eyes as he saw the still screaming Valerius come right at him.