The Gladiator (12 page)

Atticus gritted his teeth as he let out a long hiss of breath. ‘All right, I’ll take you to the compound. Then will you release me?’

‘You play fair by me, and I’ll do the same for you,’ Macro replied. He stood and turned to climb back up the steps.

‘Hey! What about me?’ Atticus called after him.

Macro paused and looked back. ‘Tyrant you called me. That, I can live with. Pig, on the other hand, takes a little time to get over. Another night in here will do wonders to help you develop a due sense of deference. Sleep tight.’

The small column left Matala at daybreak. Macro took forty men armed with spears from his fighting century to escort four wagons, all that could be drawn by the available horses and mules. A handful of civilians had volunteered to drive the wagons and act as porters. Atticus, unshaven and blinking, was taken out of the cistern and chained to the driver’s bench of the leading wagon. He scowled at Macro as the latter strode past and took position at the head ofthe leading section. Centurion Portillus had already provided him with directions to the estate and Atticus would direct them from there to the compound. Macro had left Portillus to command in his absence. With Centurion Milo, the other five sections of the fighting century, and the men detailed as rescue parties, he should have more than enough strength to deal with any trouble from the refugees in Macro’s absence.

Macro took a last look down the column to make sure that every- one was ready, then waved his hand and swept it forward.The leading sections stepped out, their nailed boots grinding the loose chippings on the dried-out surface of the road. Behind them came the steady clop ofthe horses and mules and then the deep rumble ofthe wagon wheels. At the tail of the column the remaining two sections paced forward as a few refugees looked on. They watched the convoy for a short while, then returned to the daily struggle to search the ruins for food and anything ofvalue that could be hoarded until after the crisis was over and normal life could begin again.

The road climbed a short distance inland before joining the main route that stretched along the southern coast of Crete. A milestone marked the distance to Gortyna, and Macro led the column in that direction. There had still been no word from Cato and Sempronius, and Macro was beginning to worry. Something might have happened to them on the road to the provincial capital, but short of sending out a search party, or travelling the same route himself, there was no way of knowing for sure. He tried to thrust the concern from his mind as he took in the surrounding countryside. As the road reached the fertile plain that stretched across much of the southern side of the island, a vista of farmland spread out on either side, dotted with the hovels of smallholders, the much larger structures of estates, and here and there a small village. They came to a junction beside a milestone and, following the directions given to him by Portillus, Macro led the column off the main road and down the lane towards the estate of Demetrius. The column tramped along the peaceful lane as insects droned lazily between the flowers that fringed the route.

‘Sir.’ O n e of the auxiliaries in the leading section suddenly pointed ahead.

At first Macro saw only an untidy bundle of rags, then quickly realised it was a body. He threw up his arm and called out,’Halt!’

While the men and wagons ground to a stop, Macro cautiously made his way down the stony lane, warily glancing from side to side as he approached the body. It was a man who must have had an imposing physique when he was alive, despite his sparse grey hair and worn features.The body lay curled up on its side in a ball.The skin was livid with bruises and cuts. Beneath the skin, lumps and swellings indicated where bones had been broken, and the once strongjaw had been pulverised so badly that the misshapen face would have been barely recognisable to anyone who had known him in life.

Macro squatted down to examine the body, wrinkling his nose at the ripe odours of decay. The tunic was of a good quality and the belt was decorated with silver fittings. The man wore army boots, old but well looked after, and a tough leather whip was wrapped tightly about his throat. His tongue protruded from his swollen lips and his eyes bulged in their sockets. The brand of Mithras was clearly visible on the forehead, and Macro realised that he was looking at a legionary veteran. Discharged from the army, he had taken a job as an overseer ofslaves.The hard life ofthe legions made such men well suited to the task, and also made them the first target of the wrath of slaves if they rose in rebellion.

Slipping his hands under the body, Macro rolled it off the road and into the grass at the verge. Rising back to his full height, he waved the column on and the men trudged past the corpse, briefly glancing over it as they went by. The more experienced and nervous of the men began to survey the surrounding landscape warily now that they had seen this first sign of danger. A short distance from the body, the lane passed through a grove of olive trees and then emerged before an extensive sprawl ofbuildings and empty grain pits. Immediately in front of them was an imposing gateway leading into the villa of the estate owner. A quarter of a mile away lay the slave compound. There were large gaps in the wall through which Macro could see the remains of the long barrack blocks in which the slaves were locked up each night. There was no sign of life there now.

The bitter tang of burning wafted through the air, and Macro halted the column once more outside the gate.

‘First section, with me!’

His fist tightened round the handle of his sword as he warily approached the entrance to Demetrius’s villa. One of the gates was still in place but the other had been thrust open, and Macro warily led his eight auxiliaries inside. There was a large open courtyard surrounded by a colonnade, which had supported a tiled roof before the earthquake. N o w the shattered tiles lay in heaps about the columns. Opposite the gate stood the burned-out shell of the main residence. Blackened walls and charred timbers stood stark against the clear sky. In the centre of the courtyard lay the remains of a large bonfire: a tangle of burned wood, unrecognisable black lumps of matter and ashes. Around the remains ofthe fire were three tall beams and crosspieces. A body was nailed to each, facing the fire. The rear of each body was unharmed, and coloured cloth still clung to the corpses. However, on the side facing the fire they had been slowly roasted. T h e cloth had charred and the skin was black and blistered. Their lips had been curled back by the heat, exposing the teeth, which now seemed to grin at the horrified soldiers standing beneath them.

Macro picked up the lightly burned end of a shaft of wood and prodded the charred debris.

‘Looks like someone went into the fire.’ He turned and scanned the ground until he saw the hole into which the fourth beam had been dropped. The end of the beam still protruded from the remains of the fire. ‘There. Looks like the slaves pushed one of their victims into the flames.’

‘Fucking awful way to die,’ muttered one of the auxiliaries.

Macro dropped the shaft and glanced round the inside of the courtyard. ‘Well, there ain’t a good way to die. Come on, lads. We’ve seen enough. Nothing to be done here.’

Outside, the men who had remained in the column looked curiously at the ashen expressions of the section Macro had taken inside. He made his way over to the wagon where Atticus was chained to the bench and ordered the driver to remove the shackles. Atticus rubbed his ankles and nodded towards the villa.

‘Any sign of Demetrius?’

‘Wouldn’t know what he looks like. In any case, it’s impossible to tell who any of them were.’

Atticus looked at him quickly. ‘What happened in there?’

‘Looks like the slaves decided to take revenge on their master and his family. Cooked ‘em alive.’

‘Sweet gods . . .’ Atticus swallowed, then looked round anxiously. ‘Do you think the slaves are still nearby?’

Macro shook his head. ‘Not if they’re sensible.You know the law if any slave kills his master, then every slave in the household has to be executed. My guess is that once they realised what they’d let themselves in for, they ran for the hills.’

Atticus’s expression hardened. ‘Then they must be hunted down and killed.’

‘All in good time,’ Macro replied evenly. ‘Right now I want you to take us to Demetrius’s food hoard.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Atticus took one last glance at the villa gates, then drew a deep breath and pointed to a narrow track heading away from the buildings towards a distant line of pine trees. ‘Over there.’

The column continued forward, eager to be away from the stench of the burned villa. Just before they reached the trees there was a shout from one of the wagons, and Macro turned to see the driver pointing across the open ground towards a jumbled cluster of rocks half a mile away. Three figures were standing on the highest rock, watching them.

‘Slaves,’ Atticus muttered through clenched teeth.’ We should take them. Centurion, send your men after those murderous bastards.’

There was grumbled agreement from the nearest auxiliaries, but Macro shook his head. ‘Nothing doing, Atticus. We can’t spare the men for a chase. Besides, my lads can’t outpace them in full armour. In any case, they’ll know the ground around here. Chances are they’ll lead our men into a trap.’

‘You’re letting them get away?’ Atticus said with a shocked expression.

‘Can’t help it. Right now we have more important things to deal with. The slaves can wait for the moment.’ Macro cleared his throat and called out harshly, ‘Keep moving! Move, you idle bastards!’

They entered the pine trees and the track wound its way through the dappled light. Macro scanned the route ahead, and the shadows on either side, as they progressed for over half a mile.

‘You had better be right about this food hoard,’ he said quietly.

‘I know the way,’ Atticus replied. ‘I just hope the slaves haven’t been there and taken it already. Chances are that quite a few of them knew of it.’

Macro nodded. ‘Let’s hope they thought better than to burn it down.The slaves have got to eat too.’

The track turned sharply to the left and descended into a gorge with steep sides, a perfect spot for an ambush, Macro decided, as he glanced up at the boulders strewn across the slopes. If those were tumbled down on to the column they would smash the wagons to pieces, and crush any man or horse in their path.

‘How much further?’

‘We’re there.’ Atticus raised his hand and pointed. ‘Through the trees, see?’

Macro squinted and saw that the track began to open out into a clearing a hundred paces ahead. On either side the slopes of the gorge spread out. As the column entered the clearing he saw a sizeable wooden stockade, twice the height of a man. There was a watchtower at each corner and a stout pair of gates where the track ended. A number of bodies lay in front of the wooden walls, struck down by arrows and light javelins.

‘Seems that the slaves paid a visit after all,’ said Macro. ‘Someone was here to see them off.’

‘Stop there!’ a voice called out from the stockade, and Macro saw that several men had appeared above the sharpened stakes that formed the wall. Each man carried a javelin, and there was further movement in the nearest watchtowers as bowmen climbed the ladders. A figure above the gate cupped a hand to his mouth and called out again,’I said stop where you are!’

‘Halt!’ ordered Macro. He stepped forward and raised a hand in greeting. ‘We’re from Matala. Twelfth Hispania. Centurion Macro.’

‘Centurion Macro? Never heard of you.’ ‘I arrived shortly after the earthquake.’ ‘How convenient!’ the man above the gate replied caustically.

‘Begone! Before I order my men to shoot you down.’ Macro looked back over his shoulder. ‘Atticus! Come forward!’ The men parted as Atticus eased his way through the front ranks of the auxiliaries and stood beside Macro. ‘Do you know that man up there?’ Macro pointed. Atticus strained his eyes for a moment and then smiled. ‘Why, yes!

That’s Demetrius.’ He stepped forward and called out. ‘Demetrius of Ithaca, it’s me, Atticus!’

There was a briefpause before the man above the gate responded in a relieved tone. ‘Atticus! You survived. No surprise there. Who’s your friend? I know the officers of the Twelfth, but I don’t recognise him.’

‘He arrived after the earthquake, like he says.’

‘Fair enough . . .’ Demetrius turned to call down into the stockade. ‘Open the gate!’

With a faint creak from the ropes that acted as hinges, the gates swung inwards and a moment later Demetrius emerged, smiling, as he advanced on Atticus and Macro. After clasping arms with his friend, the estate owner turned to examine Macro.

‘A relation of Atticus?’ ‘I think not,’ Macro snorted. ‘Well, you could be mistaken for a brother.’ ‘Really? Well, that’s something I shall just have to live with.’ ‘A prickly friend you have here, Atticus.’

‘He’s no friend.’ Atticus shook his head. ‘What happened here? We passed what was left of the villa. When we saw the bodies I feared that you had been killed.’

Demetrius frowned. ‘Bodies? What do you mean? What has happened to my villa?’

‘Surely you know?’ ‘If I did, I wouldn’t be asking. Tell me.’ Macro cleared his throat. ‘The place has been burned down by the slaves. We found the body of an overseer a short distance from the villa, and four more bodies inside.’

The blood drained from Demetrius’s face. ‘When I brought my family down here I left my steward in charge with a handful ofmen I could trust.’

‘What happened back there?’ asked Macro. ‘After the earthquake?’

Demetrius was silent for a moment, as he collected his thoughts. ‘The slaves had been working late that evening, and had only just come back from the estate when the earthquake struck. I was with my family in the garden. Ifwe had been inside, then we would have shared the fate of the kitchen staff, and been crushed and buried alive. As it was, they were the only ones we lost. I left orders for the slaves to repair as much damage as possible while we took shelter down here. My steward reported to me on the first evening after the earthquake, and said that the slaves were being kept in their place by the overseers and the repairs to the compound wall were under way. So I thought all was well, until he failed to report the following evening, and the one after. That was when they appeared.’ He indicated the bodies. ‘Turned up at dusk and demanded that I open the gates. When I said no, they charged the gate. I told my men to stop them, and as you can see, that did the job. They melted away into the trees. We’ve been keeping a close watch for them ever since,’ Demetrius concluded wearily. ‘Whoever they are.’